


Child Of The Universe

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Biblical References, Creation Myth, M/M, post - season 8
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-09
Updated: 2013-10-22
Packaged: 2017-12-14 10:18:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 65,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/835795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Two possibilities exist: either we are alone in the universe or we are not. Both are equally terrifying." - Arthur C Clarke</p><p>They think that it's just a regular job. A big one, certainly, but nothing that they can't fix.</p><p>But of course, it's not as simple as that.</p><p>What is the best way to send an entire angelic Host back to Heaven? Dean thinks they should just round up the lot of them, strap them to a rocket and blast them up yonder, but his idea lacks poetry (or so Crowley says), so they must look for a more elegant solution. They must travel further, ask more questions, look to the past to unravel the truth - only then will they realise the bigger picture and understand what it will mean when they shut Heaven and Hell forever.</p><p>A post-S08 story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Go Placidly Amid the Noise and Haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence.

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own the rights to these characters, setting, show, etc.
> 
> This is after Season 8, so SPOILERS ALERT (though it's over 3 weeks past it, so going by Spoiler Etiquette, YOU SHOULD KNOW WHAT'S HAPPENED TT_TT. If you don't... I'm so sorry.)

 

 

 

**  
  
**

“You know, your elbow’s kinda, in my _groin_ -”

“It can do much worse,” she warns him, though she lessens the pressure slightly, “Watch your hands, boy.” 

Aidan obediently repositions his hands and dots small apologetic kisses around her neck. It’s a warm night but a brisk breeze picks up over the hilly playing-field, bringing muddy scents from the canal and aromatic ones from a Chinese take-out place nearby. Home is only a few blocks away. It’s still a little unreal to think that it's _theirs._

Life is so _ordinary_  now - wonderfully mundane and normal.  Sure, they’d dealt with a stray shapeshifter a couple months back, and sometimes they wondered about when they might expect the next big bad thing to come by and ruin everything - but that's relatively understandable pessimism, given what lives they've been dealt; and it's always good to be cautious, life has taught them. They're enjoying life as it comes, with all of its unexpected twists and turns only as unfortunate as finding they've forgotten to go grocery shopping for weeks or they have no clean underwear anymore, goddamn it.

It would almost seem boring if they weren’t so happy with it.

“Kris,” Aidan hisses, gusting breath on the shell of her ear. She closes her eyes and hums. “Hey, open your eyes. Come on, you’ll miss it.”

She inwardly rolls her eyes, but his hands come on either side of her face to direct her gaze to somewhere in the sky, and she thinks she sees what he is pointing at.

A quiet, “Oh,” escapes her, and he chortles.

“Make a wish.” He wraps his arms around her, and he knows he’s teasing, but she can't help but make one. Its such a perfect night, she thinks, what could she possibly wish for? To ask for more would be greedy. She just pretends.

“So...?”

She grins, “None of yer business.”

“Touchy touchy, I’ll tell you mi…” his body tenses at the same time as her jaw drops, because… that star ain’t shooting. It's _falling._ The invisible barrier of atmosphere that _should_ separate starstuff from Earth is burnt through, and the sweet streak of white against the ink-black sky becomes a fire-ball blazing, _hurtling_ towards Earth. “Is that a meteor?” the plain panic in Aidan’s voice almost causes Krissy to let loose a startled laugh, but it is clearly no laughing matter.

In the distance the fire-ball cuts through soundlessly - it tickles the tops of trees, setting them ablaze - and then it crashes into the ground with an almighty rumble they can hear from miles away.

“What the fuck?” Aidan gasps, sliding off the fence. He bumps into her when he lands. She doesn’t notice - her eyes are fixed on the point where it fell. It is only a small fire now, but it will grow and spread quickly, “What the _hell_ is that?”

“Quiet,” she snaps, stepping forwards, squinting into the darkness - she can barely see anything beside the flame.

“Oh my god.”

They don’t need to look to know Jo has joined them - she leans her weight on the creaky fence and gasps and gasps - the three of them are speechless as they see  _more_ balls of fire hurtling through the sky. At first they can count them - a dozen or so streaking by - but then there are dusty pinpricks in the distance and great big ones much _closer._ Soon the sky is filled with fire, smoke - they hear the far-off dozen smack into the ground like raindrops, which means that _soon_ -

Soon the bigger ones will land-

“Move!” Jo screams, yanking Krissy half-over the fence by the scruff of her jumper. It’s not safe anywhere - but she can't find it in her to voice this fact. If these things keep falling everywhere like bombs, they stand no better chance running anywhere else, they might as well stay-

Krissy squirms free and throws her arms out, “There’s no _point!_ ” she winces as there is a sudden flash of light and heat close enough to feel. The instinct to run is so huge, she struggles to stand her ground, “They’re _everywhere!_ ”

“ _Fucking Mayans!”_ Aidan shrieks as one fire-ball hits a pond, turning it into a geyser of steam. “ _What the hell is happening?”_

“Krissy!”

Jo’s scream is piercing - the heat blazes through Krissy in a scorching wave - she’s sure she’s lost her hair and eyebrows and her flesh is melting into her bones - and then they are running. Jo is hauling both of them away and it is the fastest they have ever moved in their entire lives _ever_. They trip and shriek and skid in the mud and still it’s not nearly _fast_ enough -

Krissy chokes on heat and sputters in the muddy water. Without meaning to, WALL-E the robot comes to mind, specifically the scene where he dug under earth to escape the rockets - and she starts kicking and flailing madly to cover them all in freezing mud and funnily enough it _works._

Thank Pixar for their lives, because the water around them vaporises and turns to cracked earth. Like clay, it moulds around them and dries and hardens, binding them to each other. They are _alive_ by some miracle. Krissy drags herself up and they all stare at the thing that almost fried them.

It’s not a fire-ball, it’s not a star or meteor - it’s... _unrecognisable._ A lump of oozing, bloody mess - but the fact that there is blood means this thing was a living, breathing _something_. The mud has extinguished the fire, but its bones are crushed, not scorched, meaning that though it brought the fire with it, it most likely died upon impact with the ground, where it was turned into bloody mush...

“We need to get out of here,” Jo rasps breathlessly, and this time they listen to her. Despite it not making a difference where they go, _moving_ feels better than not. Krissy is hit with the sudden desire to run back home and hide under her bed in her room which should be _safe -_ but she knows she can’t, because she knows it isn’t. They all share similar looks of despair at having to leave it all behind, but they simultaneously tell themselves - they were never really settled. This was never their home. They have all they need in the trunk of their car. Home is each other.

“ _Move your ass, Chambers!”_

Krissy has fallen behind - lost in thought - but she hops into the car just in time. The wheels bite gravel and they are off. She can’t help but look behind at the fire-balls crashing into the mud, more and more of them falling from the sky. It’s tragically beautiful and so blatantly supernatural that she wonders how the hunters are gonna disguise this as anything else this time. Meteors leave craters, not bloody remains.

Krissy crosses her arms and slumped in her seat. She is sagging with defeat, but anger keeps her agitated and awake - she is mostly angry at herself for letting herself believe - just when they thought life was _good._ Bitter laughter croaks out of her, leaving her throat aching because _fire-balls falling from the sky?_ Really? She runs her fingertips over her forehead and - ah, yes… no eyebrows left. And she’s not even going to pretend that things can’t get any worse than they already are, because as her temper settles and her mind clears - she remembers looking up moments before Jo pulled them away. In that split second looking up, she swears… she swears she saw a face. The fire-ball, it had a _face_.

The more she thinks about it, the more certain she becomes of it - she saw a person, someone screaming in the flames - and the thought that someone was burning alive, falling to their death… it’s horrible. It’s not _right_ to sympathise with this… fire-ball-faced person _thing_ that’s probably a monster - but Krissy can’t help herself. It was screaming. It was _afraid._

And thousands upon thousands of these things are falling to Earth. There was no doubt in her mind who’s fault this most likely is down to -

“Fucking _Winchesters."_  

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The host of Heaven eventually stops falling and what’s left of the night falls dark and silent.

‘ _Calm before the storm’,_ ‘ _deep breath before the plunge’ -_ call it what you will, it’s like the whole world has been shocked into silence.

It’s eerie, but also strangely peaceful, all things considered - with pre-morning light filtering in and Sammy snoring in the bed behind him. Kid sounds like some elephant in heat or something, but his breathing is steady and deep and that’s all Dean wants.

Dean vividly remembers how Sam collapsed against the Impala in a crazy fit, his breath wheezing like a death rattle in his throat - and he’d stupidly been staring at the sky instead, watching Angels - so many Angels - _thousands_ or more - falling all at once out of Heaven.

“ _Cas! Castiel! Where the hell are you…”_

His cries went unanswered and his stomach lurched - it could only mean that Cas was out of range or out of reach, both of which meant either dead or Human. Either way, he couldn't help him now.

The cold shock of being left alone to something this _big_ all by himself was truly devastating. Dean remembers himself trying to pretend the whole thing was just a _really_ big mess to fix - nothing as terrifying as the destruction going on outdoors, because that was the only way he was ever gonna be able to face this otherwise. What worried him the most was that he had no idea what comes next - what happens to a planet besieged by a no doubt highly pissed off Host of Heaven? He can't dip into his father's journal like old times, or even scour the MoL archives for some guidance - because _this hasn't  ever happened before_. They should be making notes, because this is literally the first experience of Heavenly invasion they've ever had. They're like mini-bombs crashing into the Earth’s surface, like meteors but with more punch and holy wrath.

He’s seen one land up-close. The sickening crunch of every bone in that fragile body smashing together upon impact with the ground still rings in his ears. Even from a distance he’d seen nothing left but a smear of flesh in dirt. For each angel Falling, their wings blazed a trail the sky behind them - burnt to nothing, they plummeted to Earth with nothing left to slow their descent, and Dean was guessing most of them met similar fates to the Angel he’d seen. Another, he saw fell into the river - perhaps a softer landing, but not any safer - because they didn’t resurface.

That was when he thought it was time to get them the hell outta dodge. There was no time to stop and think about what was happening, no time to process it. As always, they picked up and moved on with alarming efficiency.

Well, the ‘moving on’ part is currently on hold until Sammy is awake and mobile - and, speak of the Devil and he shall rise... with the jarring sound of a lamp bulb crashing onto the lino floor. He thought Sam might have wanted more time to sleep - he was in a real bad state from the night before - but the spitted curses and noise tell him the rise of the tall one is imminent. It's similar to a hangover morning, where you duck and cover and get the hell outta the moose's way till he's regained full control of his limbs. A drunk moose is a dangerous moose. The lamp was proof of this.

He watches Sam heave his ginormous body upright, scrunching his nose up when his joints pop like gunshots. He yawns for a good while before gazing longingly at Dean’s coffee. Dean tosses a bottle of water at him instead, which bounces off his knee onto the floor. Sam scrunches his face up and yawns again.

Looking at him you might think he has some sort of disease feasting on him, or that he’s wasting away... Dean has a suspicion that it’s his penalty for aborting the Trials’ final. Kind of like God punishing them for not having the guts to go through with it, he thinks. He kinda looks like a stoner, which is not a good look on Sam, and causes rather bad memories to surface that he'd rather not think about.

But his eyes are brighter than they’ve been for a while - sharper, more alert. It’s the only silver lining Dean can find, and it’s reassuring to see the old brain cogs whirring madly behind his eyes. That’s the only way you can see it happening under all that hair.

Sam squints in the brightening room and then down at the shattered glass. It’s a good thing they sleep with their shoes on, he can see him thinking, as he tries to identify what possibly could have caused it. He offers Dean a shrug and knuckles his eyes like a moody child.

“How’re you feeling?” Dean walks over to their bag and pulls out a bandage. The cut on Sam’s hand is hardly that bad, but a wound is a wound and they know all too well how no matter how small it is, it can fester _._ “Cos you look like… well you look-”

“Kinda… floppy,” Sam admits. His choice of words is unexpected, but he demonstrates it by lifting his arms and letting them flop to his sides. Dean can’t deny they _are_ floppy.

He swings them around until Dean catches the cut one and yanks him down to a reasonable height to wrap it. The air between them is abnormally tense. Dean blames the crappy atmosphere on the heart-to-heart they’d had earlier on. He knows it was necessary at the time, and he’d spill his heart to Sam all over again for that - but goddamn. If Sam expects that sort of talk to be a common thing, Dean’s gonna slap him. Manfully.

He ties the bandage and then nudges Sam’s shoulder, “Go back to sleep then, Mr Floppy. I’ll get you your rabbit food.”

Sam obediently flops back, arms spread open like a starfish, and soon enough his snores are rattling the window panes again. Dean tucks a pistol under his pillow like a teddy bear, just in case, and then leaves.

He drives without knowing where he’s going, up to the point where he realises he is nowhere near a salad bar or any burger joint either. He’s in a thicket with the pink sunrise winking through the trees. It’s unsettling for some reason, but he carries on. He has time to kill before any of the shops open anyway, and yet he… he doesn’t know what to do with it.

Dean digs into his pockets and pulls out his phone. Eight messages. Seven of them from Kevin, one from… Unknown Caller.

He almost stomps on the brakes.

Unknown Caller - what are the chances that, given _their_ luck, it could be Cas? Dean’s already partially accepted the likelihood that he’s dead as dead can be - if not by Metatron’s hands, then from the Fall. But it’s _Cas._ If there was ever an angel capable of beating the odds, it would be him.

Still, Dean calls Kevin first. The kid is probably panicking - it says Cas called… two hours ago, whereas Kevin’s been ringing every fifteen minutes on the dot. Freaking worrywart.

The first ring barely finishes before -

“ - jackass, you absolute _dick._ ”

“…well, good morning to you too, Sunshine,” Dean can’t help but grin at the indignation in Kevin’s voice.

“You can’t even send me one little text to tell me you’ve _not_ been torched by one of these - these Falling Angels? _Seriously?_ ”

“I didn’t think you’d worry so much Kev, honestly I'm touched,” Dean grins even more when he hears the answering huff on the other side.

“Dude, _shut up._ ”

Dean knows he’s a jerk, but he sobers up when he realises Kevin has gone quiet in embarrassment because he’s not gonna laugh at someone for caring about their survival, “So what's up kid?”

“Oh nothing… nothing short of total _disaster!_ ”

“Gee, you don't say.”

He hears Kevin panting, the distant thump of his feet as he runs, “It’s the map - the table - thing! You know what I mean - it just, it’s _covered,_ man! All these red dots appeared - I think they're all Angels!”

“What, like Angel radar? How many are we talking about?”

“I’ve tried counting them but the numbers keep changing - some keep showing up but some are blinking out. Does that mean-”

“How many _… roughly?_ ”

“I dunno! There are some places where they're all like - they're all one _big_ mass. They're _mostly,_ but not only in the States, and Dean, they're - they're in China, in Europe - I think there's a couple in _Antarctica-_ ”

Dean has to steady the phone with his other hand and like before - the world seems to stop. The trees stop swaying, the sunshine loses its warmth - Dean looks up at the sky and sees, not clouds, but smoke. There’s even a smell in the air that makes his stomach turn.

“-Dean? Dean?”

“Uh, yeah what?”

“I was asking if you know where Cas is ‘cause you kinda hung up on me last night. Where did he go?”

He’s taken back to when he and Cas talked to Naomi and the minutes following that - “ _Dean, I'm not wrong. I'm going to fix my home,”_ and then he fluttered away.

“He… he went back to Heaven,” he says quietly, with the hopes that Kevin is smart and tactful enough that he won’t have to say any more for him to understand. He doesn’t think he _can_.

Kevin thankfully catches on immediately.

“So he… he’s Fallen too? If he was in Heaven, he must have…”

“Fuck - I dunno. Anything could have happened up there,” he realises this as he’s saying it, “I guess I gotta find him. Or at least, y’know, look for him. He’s the only one who’ll know what happened.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Kevin sighs sympathetically. “And Sam? Is he okay?”

Oh. Oh shit.

Dean forgot that Kevin doesn’t know about the… the Trials. _Shit -_ after all the work he’s done translating for them, he’s gonna be _mad_ with them. Dean knows he should break it to him a little more tactfully, but as always - his mouth betrays him and blurts it all out before he can stop himself. His thumb hovers over the red phone button, just in case Kevin begins screaming down it or something.

But the silence on the other end is really just as deafening.

“So... Hell’s still open for business? It’s not shut down?”

Dean doesn’t know how to interpret Kevin’s voice because he _sounds_ pretty calm but he’s not perceptive enough like Sam to hear the subtle nuances that tell the truth. Were Sam listening, he’d be frantically miming his ‘ _he’s-gonna-kill-you’_ hands or shooting his ‘ _don’t-say-something-stupid-Dean’_ eyes at him.

He sucks in a deep breath. What the fuck does he _say?_

“Hell’s still open. But you gotta understand-”

“You don’t need to explain anything, Dean,” Kevin’s voice is completely unreadable now (and fucking _scary_ ), “But does what does this mean? Is Crowley dead?”

Shit, _Crowley_.

Why is he forgetting all these important things  _now,_ in the crucial aftermath?

“I’ll… I’ll have to go check.”

“….damn it, Dean.”

“I know!” he bites back a retort, instead starting the engine up again.

“You… weren't driving,” what Kevin’s trying to ask is - _you weren’t driving_ and _on the phone?_ He hates it when Dean does that. Stickler for the rules ‘Advanced Placement’ - breaking the law must hurt for him.

“Nah, I needed to stop for a minute. My mind’s kinda… jumbled from all of this,” and where the fuck _is_ he? Seriously, this isn't the best time to get freakin' lost. Dean scans his surroundings for any road markers but it is just a plain dirt road, as far as he can see, “And now I'm freaking lost. _P_ _erfect!”_

“Calm down and head back to where you came from.”

“Excuse me?”

“ _Turn around,_ go back in the direction you came from. Find your way from there.”

“You going somewhere, Kev?” he asks, hearing an unspoken goodbye in there.

“Gotta keep going with this Angel Tablet stuff. Hopefully this time we can follow through,” the edge is there, the disappointment. But he doesn’t sound angry. Maybe he’s too tired to.

“’kay, get some rest too alright? We need you healthy. Eat your vitamins… at the recommended daily dose.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Also, if I don’t call you in an hour, can you check up on Sam for me? Just leave him a voicemail if he doesn’t answer. Tell him I’ll be back soon.”

“Yeah, okay,” Kevin hangs up. Dean punches in the Unknown Caller number and it rings and rings. He bets his bottom dollar Cas is out - just his luck - he’s probably lying in a ditch somewhere knocked out cold. The call ends. He rings again. It rings persistently and Dean’s patience wanes. He wedges the phone between his shoulder and ear and starts turning the car around.

The second call fails. Dean swears and calls a third time, hoping this would be the lucky one -

“…”

He picked up - _he picked up!_

“Cas? Cas is that you?” there is a tense, prolonged silence on the other side. It suddenly occurs to Dean that the ‘ _Unknown Caller’ could_  be a wrong number. He stays on just in case, _hoping_ -

“Dean.”

He sighs in relief, “It’s me. It’s Dean,” _it’s you, it’s Cas -_ he adds for himself. That low, raspy voice is unmistakeable. He’s surprised to find himself smiling like a fool, but he’s glad - he’s so glad. It hits Dean like a ton of bricks - the fact that, only last night in the bar when he’d been sending his ‘E.T.’ off home he hadn't really connected with the knowledge that Cas would be truly gone _forever_. He’d been more preoccupied with overseeing Sam and the Demon Trials that hadn't given enough thought about Cas and his own. He’d be locked in Heaven forever if Metatron hadn't been a douche and tricked him _._ He would have never seen him again.

It hits him deeper than he thought it would, given how rocky their friendship had become as of late.

“Where are you?” he asks. His hands tighten on the wheel when he hears Cas coughing. _Coughing._ Cas is _human._ The reality keeps slapping him in the face - each time just as hard and shocking.

“I… I don’t know,” his voice is crackling. Dean can imagine him looking around, wide-eyed and helpless as a babe left to the wilderness -

“Is there a road anywhere, Cas? A building, a river, _anything?_ What can you see?”

“It’s very dark, Dean,” Cas’ voice clicks in his throat, “There are lots of trees. I can’t see a road-”

“Wait, trees?” how many wooded areas can there be in the little dockland they're stuck in? Assuming Cas _has_ landed in the same region they're in, what are the chances it’s the same bunch of trees Dean is in now? Dean bites his lip in thought - and he is struck with inspiration - “Look up, Cas. Can you see the sky? Is it early morning where you are?”

He hears Cas adjusting the phone, a quiet gasp, “The sky is orange and pink. I think… dawn has just passed.”

“Okay, and is the sky kinda… really thick cloud on one side, and clear-”

“The sky is split down the middle,” Cas replies, and _yes_ \- through this _unshakeable_ logic (Dean pats himself on the back) Dean reasons that Cas _must_ be _somewhere_  aroundwhere he is. 

“Good. I’m in a wooded area too. I think I'm where you are so if you hear a car engine, head towards it - I'm gonna drive up and down a bit, okay?”

“Yes, Dean.”

“I’ll blast some music too,” Dean switches on the cassette player and maxes the volume. It’s music he loves but it is even hurting his ears after the first harsh drum beats in ‘ _Back to Black’_ punch through his skull. The woods stretch either side of the road. He has no idea how wide they are - if Cas is right at the edge of them he won’t hear him, so technically this is even less likely to work.

He goes over a small bump when Cas yells out,

“I can hear you! I hear you-”

 “ _Cas,”_ he calls, over and over again, till his throat is on fire and he hears footsteps and -

He glances up and sees Cas staggering into the road through the rear-view mirror, apparently unharmed - he’s panting which means he probably ran here, which means he _must_ be okay. He looks the same, and yet almost _unrecognisable._

And he’s getting smaller and smaller in the rear window - Dean slams the brakes.

He can’t put a finger on what has changed - he _knows_ it’s the absence of his Grace, but aside from that, Cas looks the same as he always does - tired, overworked tax-accountant. A heavy-hearted soldier, gaunt and drawn and every word along those lines - except unlike Sam, his pain shows in his eyes, not his body. Maybe it’s the way he’s standing that makes him look smaller, weaker… Dean switches off the music and the engine and strides over to him.

Even though there’s no way Cas can fly off like he used to, Dean can see that he wants to. He shuffles nervously as he approaches, as the gap between them closes, and Dean gets the feeling he is slipping even further away, even further out of their reach than before.

“Cas,” he gentles his voice. It’s enough to show Cas he’s not gonna punch him. Cas looks skittish enough as it is. He is frightened, perhaps, that Dean will blame him for… well, for _everything._ It’s a logical assumption, given how Dean has reacted to Cas’ decisions in the past.

But this time it wasn’t a betrayal, it was an honest mistake. Does Cas really think that he’s cruel enough to blame him for that? He was there - he saw the spark in Cas’ eyes, the conviction in his voice when he declared that he wasn’t wrong - that he would fix his home, and he knew Cas tried his best.

...he’d chosen wrongly - made a devastating mistake, but he had tried - as he always did - and that mattered. He thought he was doing good, and that made it so much worse, because Cas’ resilience, his _faith_ was unlike anything Dean has ever seen. And yet, Dean also wonders whether part of the reason why Cas takes risks is because he is _that_ desperate to believe he is right.

That would be a startling truth - if Castiel, the angel, was so _desperate_ to prove he is rightthat he would risk _everything_ and _everyone_ time and time again - that is a startling revelation because it’s such a _human_ thing to go to such lengths. Seeing Cas so miserable is pretty hard for himself, because Dean knows what it’s like to fail badly with no one but yourself to blame. It’s like being thrown into a deep, dark pit you dug for yourself. In some ways it’s worse than Hell, because _you_ made it all by yourself - it’s all on _you._

Knowing Cas, Dean figures it’s not worth adding his own piece - he’s probably torturing himself enough with the guilt - the weight of all his brothers. There’s no honour in kicking a man when he’s down, and he doesn’t want to be cruel when Cas was forgiving. He remembers what Cas said to him to spare him from his own guilt:

_You can’t save everyone, my friend, though you try._

If only he could come up with something just as good to say back.

“Dean,” Cas murmurs finally.

Well, _that’s_ not his voice.

It’s not Jimmy’s either - it’s scratchy from coughing but not deep and rumbling like the Cas he knows _._ His head is lowered in shame which sends a pang of something through Dean, an urge to - to do or say something to shift that guilt.

“Hey,” he play-shoves Cas and is momentarily taken aback by how easy it is to move him. That time when he punched him in the Green Room, he almost broke his freaking hand, but when he pulled his arm Cas let himself be turned - perhaps Cas responds better to a gentler touch. Dean has to watch himself now with Cas being a fragile human. Easy to bruise, easy to break… “Look at me, Cas. C’mon, man - don’t be like this.”

“I'm sorry, I don’t know…" he shrugs, and Dean is struck by how he moves just like Sam does - all _floppy,_ like he doesn’t know how to move his body. And he probably _doesn’t._ That’s the thing - he’s no longer an Angel in a human vessel, he’s just  _human._ He doesn’t have the Grace to move Jimmy’s body with ease, instead he’s - for the _first time -_ controlling his human body with only the strength he has in his muscles. It must be exhausting.

He frowns up at Dean, but it’s so fleeting he almost misses it, “I was wrong.”

It’s such a small admission, and yet Dean hears a whole lot more in it than he should - Cas’ embarrassment, his guilt and fear, his shame - but more than that, he’s _giving up_.

He can hear it - things didn't work out  _again,_ maybe he should just give up, maybe he should just - _no_.

Dean laughs bitterly, “You were _tricked._ ”

“As I have been before. I should have learnt by now…” Cas continues wearily, this time he looks up and holds Dean’s gaze for a few seconds, “…the things I try to fix always end up worse. I should just leave things alone. I shouldn’t _interfere._ ”

Dean nods, not understanding much, but thinking Cas might just need someone to agree with him.

"You should, but you don't," he jerks his head to the Impala, “Come on, we need to get back to Sammy and then we’ll show you the Bat Cave. It's totally awesome."

There’s no response for a few seconds, but then Cas’ head drops down again.

“My… my family, Dean…”

“Cas? Cas!” there is a _plop_ and a dark spot on the ground where Cas’ tear landed. Dean swallows nervously but places a steadying hand on his friend’s shoulder, lending him as much strength as he can through touch. He doesn’t know what to say, and is frankly _way_ out of his depth, but he squeezes Cas’ shoulder. “We’ll fix it,” he promises, “Okay? I'm not gonna lie, it’s gonna be hard, but - hey, hey Cas? _Cas?”_ but there is more weight pressing against his hand and he realises what’s happening - _oh man, Cas is going down -_ almost too late.

He catches him just as his knees buckle, and then proceeds to half-drag Cas’ limp body to the car.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

By the time they get to the motel, Cas is passed out in the back, his head lolling with every turn and his mouth agape. It’s gross when the drool in his mouth pours onto his lap, but Dean figures it’ll be funny when Cas wakes up. His pants have a large wet patch across both thighs. At least none has gotten on the upholstery… he prays.

He opens the car door and reaches in to shake him awake but something stops him.

The right way to wake Sam is to shake him _hard_ \- nothing else works (he will grunt awake and flail madly, but that is altogether pretty harmless), but he doesn’t know how Cas will react to that. Cas prefers a _gentle_ hand. When he was moving about before was almost like he was in pain.

Last night he carried Sam from the Impala to their motel room. He can’t remember how he did that, maybe it was adrenaline that gave him strength, but he reckons that because Cas is smaller he must be lighter - and he’s right. Cas doesn’t wake when he picks him up - even when he accidentally knocks his head on the car roof... _and_ when he then uses it to push open the motel door.

Sam is awake, chugging back cold black coffee with a grimace. He barely acknowledges Dean’s return, too busy with whatever he is looking at online. When he glimpses a larger mass than just Dean moving in his peripheral vision, at first he thinks it’s just Dean bringing in a shitload of food, which - though not _normal,_ is really nothing to worry about.

But even though his brother likes his food, Dean does _not_ cradle food with _that_ much care.

“Cas!” he cries in surprise and almost falls off his chair in his hurry to reach them. Dean holds up a hand, but Sam’s brimming with questions and hopped up on caffeine - “Is he alright? What happened? Where did you find him? Is he-”

“Jesus, Sam! Shut it - Cas is  _sleeping_ ,” Dean hisses, laying Cas down carefully so as to not jar him. Even with Sam hovering over them and blocking the light, Cas looks far too pale and _small_ compared to the two of them. Scrawny and strangely delicate. Dean just knows that when he starts moving for himself he's gonna be an awkward Bambi - shaky knees, twitchy elbows and two left feet.

Sam reaches out a hand but stops midway. Dean can’t help but raise an eyebrow at where his hand was going - his pointer finger is aimed at Cas’ nose. _Seriously?_ But Sam pulls back and his mouth twists down unhappily.

“Is he…?”

“Yep,” he says shortly and hurries goes to the door, “Gonna get the hamburgers…”

Sam rolls his eyes but concedes that the area they're not in an area you'd associate with fresh produce anyway. He can’t help but stare at their friend...  _sleeping_. It's pretty a bizarre role-reversal, being the one to watch over Cas instead of the other way around. Sam manages ten more seconds before he wanders back to his laptop, already bored.

A box of wilted grass hits the table next to him.

“It’s that, or this,” a greasy paper bag is lovingly placed on his other side. “Bon appetito.”

“Dean,” the tone of Sam’s voice tells Dean he’s being called upon, but not about the pitiful meal he’s provided. He brings his burger to the laptop and peers over Sam’s shoulder at the tiny print.

“What’s’it say?”

“No crumbs on the laptop.”

Dean smacks his lips loudly and leans over to scroll his greasy fingers down the touchpad. It’s a long, dull article chock full of superlatives and exclamation marks - he reads the headlines which say: _FLAMING METEOR STORM/ARE THE HEAVENS FALLING?/TRANSFORMERS HAVE LANDED_  and sifts through the dozen other tabs open on the browser. They all say the same thing - there's no way the world is gonna buy this loada bull the newspapers are spewing. It's not surprising really, not at all unexpected - there are weird things you occasionally see in the news, and then _freaking unbelievable_ things you just don't. The titles some people have written are surprisingly not too far from the truth, but the spread of news wakes Dean up to the fact that now that people know - it makes a big difference to everything now that people have _seen_ what is out there.

They may keep their eyes far more open to the supernatural than they were before - heck, he could bet the media would be keeping a closer eye on any and all suspicious happenings for a good scoop. It could make their work ten times harder than before.

“It’s pretty bad, Dean,” Sam mutters, shouldering his arm out of the way. He opens a few other tabs, “There have been casualties on… on _impact_ with the Angels, from forest fires, collapsed buildings and _witnesses_ everywhere. I don’t think we can keep this quiet - it’s all over the news _,_ and everybody’s got different answers for it.”

“Yeah, well you kinda _couldn’t_ have missed it,” Dean says, “Gotta focus on how we… on what we’re gonna do now.”

“But what _can_ we do?” Sam twists around so they're face-to-face, “Dean. Put the burger down and help me think for a minute.”

“Alas,” Dean detaches himself from the burger with great reluctance and wipes his fingers on his brother’s paisley shirt. Time to face the music - he plops himself on the edge of Cas’ bed and steeples his fingertips together. “Okay, so I guess we gotta do some damage control before we go on with the ‘shutting Hell slash Heaven for good’ plan. Gotta deal with the Angels first, I suppose.”

“Yeah,” Sam darts a glance at Cas over Dean’s shoulder. “So he’s-”

“ _Yes,_  man. Stop asking!” he waves his hand behind him, “Can’t you see it? Do you really  _need_ to ask?” _He’s different, but not._ There’s no way of putting what he means into words, so Dean gesticulates wildly instead.

“Yeah, I get it,” Sam claws the lid off the salad box but then the _smell_ … he shuts it immediately. Something died in there, and it's not just the vegetables. “I guess it’s just… it’s really weird to think that he’s like _us,_ you know?” he chomps a mouthful of dead cow instead with what Dean deems to be not enough enthusiasm. “It’s kinda sad.”

Dean grunts, his mouth over-stuffed with fries.

“He just looks so…”

Dean scrunches up the paper bag and chucks it at Sam. “Enough. Eat. We’ve gotta hit the road, got a… possibly ex-King-of-Hell to pick up.”

Sam’s eyes go wide, “Shit.”

“Tell me about it.”

“I totally forgot. Are we… are we gonna kill him then? O-Or are we… I dunno, taking him… hostage?”

“Hostage for who? Nobody wants him now - no, wait. Hold up,  _everyone_ will want him now - think about what he might  _know,_ ” Dean is suddenly hit with the possibilities - Crowley didn’t know the Trials before they were translated but he _might_ know another way of closing Hell. That would sort one of their many problems at least, but it all depends on whether Crowley’s morals have changed - if his soul has been successfully cleansed. The thing is - Sam is still _alive._

If the third Trial requires a sacrifice and that sacrifice hasn’t been paid, does that mean the whole thing is moot?

“How far did you get into the Third Trial?” he asks Sam. He checks his brother over again, constantly - he looks miles better already, which would suggest he is free from the Trials.

It would also suggest that Crowley’s exorcism failed.

“It was almost done - he was crying and begging forgiveness. I think he might have said something about… about _love_ or something…”

Dean pulls a face, but wonders - could that be enough? Could that be a sign?

“So, we’ve gotta like… _protect_ him or something, even if he’s still a Demon - he could be an asset to us,” Sam’s latched onto his brainwave - another chance at shutting Hell down - he’s probably thinking of ways of coaxing the information out of Crowley already.

Dean nods, standing up to chuck away the rest of his burger. He’s lost his appetite just from talking about Crowley. It makes him uncomfortable to think that one of their greatest enemies might now be their only hope and ally - that he might now have a conscience and a _soul_ and all the other shit that humans are made of. How are they meant to treat him now? His initial plan to lock Crowley in their ‘dungeon’ might now be considered too ‘inhumane’ a punishment for human-Crowley.

But why should they show him an ounce of kindness when he had caused them so much pain and loss? Would that be the right thing to do?

Dean shrugs, his eyes flitting to Cas so briefly he doesn’t even realise it.

“I s’pose it all depends on what we find.”

 

 

  

 

* * *

 

 

 

They pull up to the old church and sit in silence. Dean dumps the salt, holy water and knife in Sam’s hands before he can whip out the old rock-paper-scissors and kicks his ass out of the car. He deflects the bitch-face by popping the car locks and grinning at Sam through the windscreen. As Sam trudges into the shadow of the church spire, Dean shoves his worry aside - he forces himself to not think of the possibility that Sam might… might finish what he started. It’s not a logical concern - not after their ‘heart-to-heart’. Sam _must_ know that his life will always be worth more than anything else. Still, he hears Sam’s voice echoing: _So?_ and remembers how his stomach dropped at that moment.

He counts the minutes Sam is gone, tapping an erratic beat on his thighs with his eyes flickering between Cas in the rear-view mirror and the dark mouth of the church entrance.

Cas hasn't stirred once - not when Dean scooped him over one shoulder dangling him upside down fireman-style,  not when Sam almost slammed the car door on his leg, not when the Impala’s engine roared and he honked at the stupid dumbass _suicidal_ cyclist Dean had to swerve to avoid.

It’s pretty fucking amazing that he's still asleep, and yet Dean is worried that somewhere between him rather clumsily carrying Cas around he knocked his head and gave him concussion or something. He’s _human_ now, he has to remind himself - knocking his head on the door jambs and other things might actually hurt him. Goddamn it, he’s probably given Cas a concussion.

“C’mon Sammy,” Dean shuffles restlessly, marking five minutes have gone by and Sam still hasn’t returned. It surely can’t take so long to test if Crowley’s cured or not, can it? But if he’s in trouble, or if he’s _making_ trouble, then maybe…

“Dean?”

Cas barely moved. He would think he was still sleeping, were it not for the small slither of blue peeking between both eyelids and his tongue wetting his cracked lips. He opens his eyes slowly, looking around the Impala before closing in apparent relief. Dean drums the steering wheel with the flat of his hands, the loud slapping noise jerks Cas from his doze and he scowls at Dean through the mirror.

He clicks his teeth, “Don’t go falling asleep again. We’re gonna have company pretty soon and… well you might wanna be awake for that.”

Cas blinks slowly at him and then his blinks get slower… and slower…

“C'mon, Cas,” Dean swivels around and jabs Cas’ knee. Cas grunts and kicks his leg out, but the strength of it is less than a kitten at its weakest. Cas’ eyes fly open and he glares at his leg in abject horror - to go from superhuman strength to _this_ must be mortifying. He starts thrashing - or wriggling - violently in the back-seat. Dean squeezes his upper body over the front seats to pin him down - is he having a fit? He butts Cas’ head back with his forehead and feels the fight seep out of his body till he is unnervingly still again. “Hey, calm down. Are you - are you hurting or something?”

Cas shakes his head with a grimace and - oh, when he looks up at Dean, it’s such a… he looks so _lost_ that Dean feels something snap inside of him. Something breaks off and floats in an abyss. Empathy is such a bitch sometimes - he can’t help but feel what Cas is feeling - he _knows_ exactly what it's like.

“I feel… squashed, Dean.”

“Oh, my bad -”

“No, it’s not you,” Cas flings his arm up and snags Dean’s shirt with his fingertips. The cloth stretches from the weight of his arm dragging it down, and even though it’s one of his favourite shirts - Dean lets it slide. He lets the weight of Cas’ arm be an illusion for strength, and lets himself be pulled down.

The seat digs into his abdomen making it harder to breathe, but he’s caught - he’s lost in Cas’ pain. He’s _needed_ for comfort - and that calls to Dean on a level he cannot begin to fathom. He watches a storm of emotions transform Cas’ face, one on top of the other - like he's battling a hundred of them. It’s harder to understand Cas like this - when he’s being expressive - over when he kept Jimmy’s face an emotionless mask.

Eventually Cas’ eyes well up and Dean curses under his breath.

“Dean, I feel _trapped_ ,” he chokes out, lifting one hand and spreading his fingers out as far as they can go. He tugs Dean’s shirt with the other, “Having this body... having a soul… doesn't it weigh you down? Doesn't it confine you? Already I am so weary-”

“Yeah, but c’mon Cas, you’ve had a nap and I need you to stay awake now,” Dean insists, bracing himself with his knees digging into the front seat, he pulls Cas more upright, “Okay? You can sleep when… when Sam comes back with our _special guest._ I just want you to be okay with what’s happening, and that’ll be easier if you're awake to hear it,” Cas’ eyes are fogging up again, but not in a teary way - he is _really_ tired, and getting cranky by the look of things. He shoves at Dean with a little more force than before, but not enough to even shake him. “Cas, c’ _mon_. Talk to me, anything-”

“Is sleeping always so confusing?”

“Confusing how?”

Cas sighs shakily and looks to the side, but his eyes have a far-off look about them. He looks anxious, but his mouth isn’t tight with fear. Dean pulls back a bit to give him some space.

“It was dark,” Cas licks his lips again, “But like blinking - it felt like a split second before I was awake again.”

Dean shrugs, “Sounds like normal sleep to me.”

“But why didn’t I dream?”

“I dunno, Cas,” Dean glances over his shoulder and spots the hulking shadow of his brother emerging from the shadow, “Sometimes you don’t. You can’t always tell when you're gonna dream or when you're not. It just happens.”

“Sleep is intended for rest though, is it not?”

“Yeah.”

“It wasn't restful,” Cas crosses his arms huffily, “I want to sleep some more.”

“Just wait,” Dean grumbles, squinting at his brother in the distance. He’s dragging himself in smaller steps than he usually takes - Crowley’s arm is looped over one of his shoulders and he’s half-bent to accommodate his height. The two eventually make it to the car and Sam manages to shove Crowley next to Cas in the back. When Dean twists around to glare at him, he catches sight of Cas first and swears.

He's sleeping.

Sam buckles both passengers in and then crawls into the car himself. His mouth is pursed with thought.

“He passed them,” he drags a hand through his hair and sniffs. “He’s cured.”

“But you're not dead,” Dean says slowly, “So what does that mean?”

Sam sighs, “Dunno, Dean. Let’s go home first before we start thinking about this. We can ask him then.”

Dean snorts, “And he’ll know any more than us?” he starts driving nonetheless, eager to get back at the mention of _home_. He glares at Cas sleeping through the mirror one last time and then heads towards the Interstate.

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Dean can’t help but feel like an overworked, underpaid babysitter - having to carry Cas around like an overgrown child. It’s worse after having driven the whole day, but he’s glad that Cas is pretty light. He graciously leaves Crowley to Sam, since in his mind Crowley’s Sam’s business now - he fixed him, he deals with him. Kinda like the lesser-spoken follow-up to the classic: ‘you broke it, you fix it’.

He puts Cas on an armchair in the den and shouts in his ear.

Cas opens his eyes wide but otherwise doesn’t move. It’s a weird way to react to having your eardrum assaulted from peaceful sleep, but just goes to remind Dean that Cas is Cas - weird will always be weird. Screw being considerate - Dean is tired, Dean is hungry... Dean has to refer to himself in third person to understand his own internal monologue. That isn't a good sign.

The sound rouses Crowley too, who kicks up a fuss in Sam’s arms - he _literally_ kicks Sam in the gut and gets dropped onto the floor.

“Dean!” Sam snaps, shooting Dean a _look_ as he pulls Crowley to his feet and shoves him in the general direction of the sofa. He collapses in the ottoman next to it and lets out a groan.

Next to join the little gathering is Kevin, no doubt summoned by Dean’s god-awful yell.

He’s just as skinny as ever, but when his eyes land on Crowley he seems to grow in anger. It must be some super-Asian-kid-training or freaking Kolinahr for all he knows, because Kevin's anger swells and then amazingly recedes into nothing, and then he sits down _next to Crowley_ with perfect Zen-calm. He keeps a large space between them, but his tolerance is remarkable and surprising. Dean can’t believe it - not when he remembers how frightened Kevin was of Crowley digging through his mind only days ago.

He would have punched Crowley in the face by now, if he were him.

Kevin continues to impress when he turns his head to Sam and smiles sincerely.

“It’s good to see you, Sam.”

Sam looks just as flummoxed as Dean - he nods jerkily at Kevin and then stares at his lap, his face red with shame. Sam is probably thinking he should be dead - that Kevin shouldn’t have to see him alive as proof that all his hard work was wasted on him. That's rubbing it in his face. Dean straightens up, instantly catching everyone’s attention and hoping to distract Sam from his emo thoughts. He wants to say something inspirational to get everyone in the same mindset of: _let's leave the past behind and get this shit cleaned up_ , but when he opens his mouth nothing comes out, and he's left gawping at their expectant faces.

“So,” Kevin breaks the silence, sending Dean an unimpressed look. Dean thinks Kevin might possibly have surpassed all of them in getting his head in the game, with them all lost and broken and him composed and calm - he’s holding them together. Then he remembers that he was an honour student and probably chaired all the student meetings in his high-school and therefore he _would_ have more experience than any of them in leading a meeting.

He’s given a glimpse into what _Advanced Placement Honour Student_ Kevin Tran’s life was like when Kevin clears his throat and straightens his back, asserting his authority on their little council far better than Dean did. His ass has been handed to him by someone half his age, and yet Dean can’t help but feel relieved.

Kevin meets all their eyes and clears his throat again.

“So guys, we have a _lot_ of shit to fix…”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Crowley’s behaviour is probably more disturbing because it is painfully polite.

He doesn’t move from where he’s been made to sit. He doesn’t look anyone in the eye for longer than a couple seconds. He speaks when he is spoken to. He answers all their questions without protest and his lack of insults is frankly worrying. He is so fucking _docile_ that it raises all of Dean’s hackles - he cannot believe it's not an act. This is not Crowley sitting in front of him - it’s not even a man.

It’s something lower, something in-between.

“You passed all the tests,” Sam asserts. Crowley nods, bearing his cut arm to the others. There are three slashes there, and his wrists are bruised from being bound. “Which means you're human.”

“For the most part, that’s correct.”

“The _most_ part?” Dean leaps onto this immediately, bleeding even more tension into the den and provoking Kevin’s pointed look.

Crowley nods tiredly, “I’ve lost all my Demon powers, on top of that, all the perks - my throne, my minions, my _dogs_ ,” he frowns at the last one, but continues without prompting, “For all extents and purposes, I am human. _However,_ ” his gaze flits to Dean, betraying his nerves, “I can still hear the pitter-patter of clawed feet about.”

Dean flinches, the urge to leap onto something hits him - it’s pure instinct that makes him reach for his gun. Cas makes as noise that stops him, and after a few moments when his heart has calmed down, he realises there is no sign of Hell Hounds - no huffing, puffing or steamy, stinky breath.

“You can still sense Hell-things?” Sam cuts in, leaning forward in obvious interest.

Crowley nods again, “Yup.”

“He’s like Anna.”

They all turn to Cas who is staring at Crowley curiously. He even tilts his head a bit, and something uncurls in Dean’s stomach when he sees that familiar movement. Crowley raises his eyebrow in response to Cas’ strange deduction.

“Who?”

Cas turns to Dean and Sam, “You remember Anna?”

“Yup,” they both say.

Kevin raises his hand and then points at himself and Crowley, “Yeah, _we_ don’t.”

“My sister, Anael - she chose to Fall to Earth many years ago by tearing out her Grace. It made her human in most ways, but she never lost her connection to the Host.”

“Angel radio,” Dean remembers they called it. He quirks a brow at Crowley, “You got _Demon_ radio then?”

Crowley sniffs, “Of sorts.”

Dean and Sam share a quick glance: Crowley _is_ valuable to them now - more valuable than they previously thought.

“So instead of Falling _down_ , you Fell…”

“Up,” Crowley finishes.

“Wow.”

“It comes with some perks, though the drawbacks are a-plenty,” the ex-King’s face turns stormy, and his smile is just as dark, “I've been burdened with a conscience, you might say. A whole lot of ‘ _sorry’_ and guilt and more guilt - enough memories to feed my nightmares for the rest of my mortal existence.”

“And then what?” it honestly surprises Dean when all that Crowley has said doesn’t make him feel one bit better. The sad little smile Crowley sends him is so bizarre, but it hits him somewhere in his morals.

“Then it’s back to Hell, I suppose. There’s no chance of any other ending for me. A lifetime of good deeds won’t make up for all the things I've done.”

“’ _Good deeds’_? You're really gonna switch sides? Just like that?”

Sam’s disapproving look does nothing to him - Dean feels he’s completely justified in picking Crowley apart - this could even be considered being a _gentle_ interrogation. He’s not convinced that gaining a conscience is enough to make the _King of Hell_ into their new best friend. Hell, if _he_ were Crowley - if _he_ suddenly gained a conscience and looked back on all the shit he’d caused… Dean’s not sure he would survive the guilt. It would surely eat him alive.

Yet despite claiming to feel remorse for what he had done, Crowley stared him in the eyes with… with fire in his eyes. He's clearly determined to right some wrongs, and he's an _asset_ … weighing the risks against the benefits of trusting Crowley, Dean already knows the choice is out of his hands.

“How do we know that you're not gonna find a way of turning back though?” he tries one last thing against Sam’s bitchface warning, “Anna got her Grace back and _poof!_ She got her wings back. What kind of stuff would you need to get your horns regrown?”

Crowley’s face twists up at this, “Why would I _want_ to be a demon again? Did you not just hear me telling you about my fucking _conscience_? You think you know what it’s like, coming back and having to deal with all those memories - try _centuries_ of them. I’m not going to _add_ to the angst, thank you very much. I have more than enough already.”

“Why aren’t you dead then?” Dean shakes off whoever grabs his arm, he goes to stand directly above Crowley where he stares him down unflinchingly, “Cos when I came back I was practically begging for it, and if what you say is true - if you have _centuries_ on me - I just don’t see how you're still alive.”

“Are you still incapable of using your brain, Winchester?!” shockingly Crowley rises to his feet, shoving Dean back a few steps. He looks more terrifying this way - mortal and enraged - than when he was collected and evil. It’s something raw in what he says that hits them all somewhere really deep.

“Dying is the easy way out,” Crowley snarls, “It’s too quick, too kind - I'm going to stay up here and help you whether you like it or not. It’s not for you - it’s for _me_ \- so put away your prejudice for however long it takes us to clean up this mess and _then_ you can kill me, alright princess?” he sags and stumbles back onto the sofa after he’s done, and they all stare at him in shocked silence before Kevin dutifully moves the meeting along.

“Well,” he says diplomatically, “I think we’ve pretty much established that Crowley is now part of Team Free Will, _alright Dean?_ ” Dean nods grudgingly, “And Crowley’s also brought to attention our main problem…”

“The fallen Angels,” Sam says quietly, and they all slowly turn their heads to Cas in unison, “Cas?”

The former Angel ducks his head, “Yes.”

“Can you tell us what happened?”

Cas shudders and his hand jumps to his throat. He must have overestimated the distance because he hits his voice-box hard and starts coughing madly. Dean goes to get him some water when he finds himself unable to stop and when he returns he finds Cas red in the face with tears streaming down his face. Sam is trying to coach him through steady breathing but it’s clear he’s beyond calming down.

Dean shoves the water in Cas’ hand, but when he can’t hold it up he kneels down so he can pour it down Cas’ throat. The action of drinking isn’t new to Cas, thankfully, and they watch his throat bob with each mouthful until the cup is dry. Cas brings his hand up to his throat more slowly this time and holds it there protectively.

His mouth trembles, and that’s the moment when Dean decides he might need some prompting.

“Metatron?”

The name alone causes Cas' face to crumple. Dean grabs his arm and shakes him out of his funk before he can delve too far into the no doubt _horrible_ memories.

“What did he do to you, Cas?” he presses, a note of urgency there when he sees Cas closing off. They need to know what’s going on - how the angels were cast out - where Metatron is -

“Naomi was right,” Cas chokes out, and Dean knows admitting to that was one of Cas’ deepest regrets. He squeezes his arm in encouragement, to which Cas sends him a confused look, “What I thought were the Trials for shutting Heaven was a spell. It was Metatron’s plan all along to cast the Angels out of Heaven.”

“But _why?”_ Kevin interjects - he is probably quite shocked to hear his saviour (from _Crowley_ , no less) is the one responsible for the mess.

Cas frowned in more confusion, “I cannot say that I understand his reasoning fully, but from what I was told, he was incredibly hurt when God left Heaven. He was very close to Him since he was made to be His scribe, and took down His Word for all his existence. Metatron saw God’s departure as a personal rejection and so… he thought it right that he banish us all from Heaven. I believe he meant to hurt us as has been hurt,” Cas’ voice drops low enough that he can barely be heard, “As if we are not suffering enough ourselves.”

“That _son of a bitch-_ ”

Sam smacks Dean over the head and turns to Cas, “Man, we are really sorry for you, but do you know  _how_  he did it?”

Cas’ mouth twists down even further and it’s Dean’s turn to smack Sam for being a real _jerk_ with no tact. Dean’s not used to being the one to point this out, but this is _Cas_ , and he’s already having a rough time.

“As I said - it was a spell. It took the heart of a Nephilim, a Cupid’s bow, and… and myGrace to complete it,” Cas’ fingers hover over his throat, but they drop onto his stomach, twitching like crazy. “He took my Grace and sent me down to Earth so I may live as a human. He told me he would greet me in Heaven when my time is done.”

“But if he cast _all_ the Angels out of Heaven, doesn’t that include himself?” Kevin asks, “Unless the spell-caster is excluded from the spell.”

Cas shrugs, “I cannot feel the Host anymore - I do not know what may have happened to him. There’s a difference between _choosing_ to Fall and being _made_ to Fall,” he is clearly pointing a finger at Crowley with this, who nods.

“I chose,” he says simply, shrugging at Sam when his jaw drops, “That’s why you didn’t die, Moose. You didn’t finish the Trial. You didn’t finish curing me. It was just a little bit further, so I pushed myself off the edge.”

“But what are the Angels going to do now, Cas?” Sam turns their attention back to him, “I mean, what do you _think_ they’ll be doing on Earth?”

“They’ve never been exactly that friendly to us mortals, have they?” Kevin adds wryly, “Not even to the prophet.”

“I have no idea what they will do,” Cas admits morosely, “As you know, I am a poor judge of character - as such, I will be of as little help to you in predicting the actions of my kin.”

Dean shoves Cas gently, determined to not let him dwell on his latest mistake, but it does nothing to shake the frown off his face.

“Stop being so hard on yourself, man. Metatron had us all fooled.”

Cas’ face crumples, “But he was my _brother.”_

Dean doesn’t know what to say to that. 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Kevin takes them all to the mission table and they all gape at the sheer _number_ of red dots covering the map. In the few seconds of staring, a few of the dots blink out - mostly those in the sea.

Cas’ face goes very pale and he has to excuse himself. His exit is barely noticed by anyone. The sheer _scale_ of this disaster is bigger than anything they’ve faced before - even the Apocalypse was mostly centralised around America. This is all over the _world_.

Kevin goes over to one of the massive computer boards. He’s somehow wired a laptop to it and shows them how he’s combined the table map to Google Maps.

“If Cas can’t give us an idea of what the angels are gonna be doing, we might have to ask one for ourselves,” he announces and zooms into Kansas, “Now, there’s none in this state for some reason - maybe the MoL wards bounced them off’a us or something. I dunno if you drove through Arkansas on your way up here*, but that’s where the closest one from here has landed,” he points out the red dot and leans back expectantly. "I think those that have Fallen and survived will be pretty roughed up from the landing, so I'd have thought the hospitals would be full of them."

"Not if they're too bashed up to get to one," Sam points out.

Dean rubs the bridge of his nose and exhales loudly.

“I know we’ve gotta hit this on the head ASAP, but man I need to _sleep_ and I gotta pee so bad it _hurts._ ”

Sam wrinkles his nose and joins Kevin at the laptop - drawn to it like a moth to a light. Dean shakes his head but leaves them, so desperate to relieve himself he has to break into a shameful waddle to make it to the nearest bathroom.

When he’s finished, he returns to them, curious to see what Sam’s stuck around for - he’s pretty sure what, but has to know for sure before he crashes.

Sure enough, Sam’s discussing the next nearest angel location with Kevin. The nerds are deep in discussion - there's no way Sam's gonna leave this till he has enough to start making plans with. Having a plan always makes things better.

Crowley is sprawled on a few chairs, his head nodding onto his chest. It occurs to Dean that none of them have shown the two newest members of Team Free Will where they're gonna stay. Fuck knows where Cas has wandered off too, but Crowley looks in equal need of a bed. Dean tries to catch Sam’s attention via glaring at the back of his head, but he’s got too much hair to feel it, so he - with great reluctance - takes responsibility of sending Crowley to bed.

“C’mon,” he grunts, nudging Crowley’s chair with his foot and flicking him on the forehead for good measure. Crowley blinks wide awake, the beginning of a yelp escapes his lips before he gets a hold on his surroundings and calms down. He follows Dean obediently and shuts the door to his new room behind him with great care. Dean returns to the mission room again and despairs - for the nerds are still discussing things his over-tired brain cannot deal with right now. All he can think about is _sleep._

Before he knows it, his feet are leading him to his room and he’s shutting the door behind him. The room is dark, but he knows it well enough to find his bed and peel back the covers. Before he passes out, he considers what Cas said about sleep and dreaming. He thinks about how sooner or later Cas will come to regret that he took for granted the bliss of a dreamless sleep because when the nightmares come, there's really no stopping them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Season 8 Finale was based in Houston, Texas


	2. As far as possible without surrender be on good terms with all persons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Revenge is a type of pleasure. It’s when you want someone to feel the same pain you’ve felt or more, whether their crime was intentional or not.

 

When Dean wakes up, he already knows Sam has gone.

He’s gone after the Angel. He’d slept for the whole drive back to the Bunker so he’s probably hyped up and _impatient_ enough to want to tackle the long journey south alone - he’s not surprised. Sam always wants to get on with the job and usually do it alone when he's feeling the pressure like this. It does surprise him though when Kevin tells him Sam left the Impala behind for him and went to find himself some other car. Dean is both offended and grateful, yet he has to wonder about this kind, yet highly suspicious behaviour.

He hurries to the Impala in a mad panic, half expecting to find her girlied up with fuzzy dice or spritzed with _eau de toilette_ ("It's not _actual_ toilet water, Dean...") but instead -

Finds Cas sleeping in the back seat.

He’s curled up with his knees tucked up in the air and his cheek mashed against the glass. Dean’s doesn’t even gonna bother thinking about how the heck he got in there without the keys - unless. He digs his hand in his jacket - oh yeah, they aren’t _there_.

Sneaky little bastard.

How the hell is he sleeping in that position anyway? The crick in his neck’s gonna be rough. He is more amused than anything and whips his phone out for photos - but then, as if he can sense him lurking there (trying to focus the damn pixels), Cas open his eyes and - _fuck._ He’s drooling again. And this time, it’s _definitely_ dripping somewhere in the car.

“ _Cas,”_ he wails, rapping his knuckles on the glass next to his head. Cas raises his had slowly and wipes his mouth. He stares at his wet sleeve in confusion and then up at Dean with just as much bewilderment. The door unlocks after some deliberation, and Cas hesitates before stepping out to face Dean.

“Good morning Dean,” he rasps, licking his lips. “Where is Sam?”

“Gone to pick up one of your bros. Mind telling me what made you choose to sleep out here?”

Cas has never been particularly fond of the Impala - as an Angel, he'd found it too confining and slow compared to flying. The fact that he chose to sleep in it is therefore somewhat contrary to this. Cas fumbles with something in his pocket and then gingerly tosses him the keys. Dean can’t help but grin - hand in the cookie jar expression with the crumbs all over his sticky face. Classic. It’s sort of endearing in a way - but he sweeps those candy-sweet feelings aside and goes on to lead them back to the Bunker.

“’d you sleep okay this time?” Dean asks. A glance behind shows Cas is slow to follow him, his movements stiff and uncoordinated - but at least he’s moving. Dean kindly holds the door open for him -

And then shuts it in his face.

There is a muffled yelp and a loud thump.

He yanks the door open - Cas is flat on his ass, blood dripping from his nose and his mouth agape in shock.

“Fuck!” he helps him up, but is shaken off the moment Cas is back on his feet. Ignoring Cas’ hurt looks and grumbling protests, Dean grabs him by the chin and tilts his head back to see how bad the damage is. He tenderly prods at the bridge of his nose, gentling the pressure when Cas flinches. Then he hums, pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket and wads it on Cas’ face, grinning all the while (in what he thinks is a reassuring way, but Cas personally interprets as him being an insensitive jerk).

“You were meant to catch that, you know? Geez. You’ll be fine - lots’a blood but it’s not broken, though ‘m not gonna lie, that’s gonna leave one helluva bruise-”

“Why would you do that, Dean?” Cas’ eyes are glassy with tears, but he gulps down the pain and squeezes his nose harder. Dean rolls his shoulders in a shrug. His faux nonchalance fools no one, especially when he fusses over making sure Cas isn’t squeezing his nose too tight - he clearly didn’t mean for Cas to get hurt from this.

“I didn’t even _slam_ the door, Cas. It was slow enough to block - I thought…” Dean ruefully shakes his head, “I dunno, I wanted to see if you had all the reflexes. You know, we have this natural reflex that stops shit hitting us in the face, usually by swatting it away - we’re born with it. I was just seeing if you have it too-”

“I am well aware of humans’ primitive reflexes, thank you.”

Cas looks so unimpressed with the karate chops Dean mimes in his face that he flares his nostrils in genuine disappointment. The handkerchief is soaked in blood now which signals their cue to get inside, but Cas grabs Dean before he can open the door again.

“Why is it important that I have them?” he asks, jerking back in surprise when Dean leans in and blows in his eye. His eyes water again, almost spilling over this time when he blinks and blinks and blinks.

“See? You didn’t use to do that before. I swear, we could be in the middle of a blizzard and you'd be like this,” he widens his eyes and stares vacantly for a couple of seconds till his mouth quirks in a smile. Cas can’t understand why Dean is so pleased, and starts to get the nasty feeling he’s about to be subjected to more of these ‘tests’.

He’s right, and not fast enough to dodge Dean’s fingers which catch him in the ribs and -

“ _No!”_

He shocks himself with how indignantly he squawks, but Dean pays him no heed. What ensues is the most bizarre, chaotic, _painless_ battle Cas has ever partaken in. Cas catches brief glimpses of Dean grinning each time he squirms, but mostly he’s bent over double trying to protect his middle from the attack - “No, Dean - _stop!”_

Dean eventually does, and he stops laughing, but he’s still bright and oozing silent victory. “Yay, you're ticklish,” he taps his temple, “Won’t forget it."

“Was that necessary?” Cas is struggling to understand what just happened.

Dean chuckles, “Nah, but you're too tense - walking around like a frigging robot - come here,” he steps out of the entrance and takes Cas to the middle of the empty road.

After walking them about till Cas’ legs are a little looser, he plants his hand on the centre of Cas’ back and instantly feels the tension in his muscles.

“C’mon, if you're gonna slouch, loosen your back too. Don’t want you pulling a muscle somewhere,” he pounds him in the spine and kneads his kidneys till he slumps a little. “Like that,” he slings an arm around Cas’ slack shoulders, hoisting him up, “We’ve got a lot of _exciting_ things need to be done for you to be protected now that you've joined us in the mud."

Okay, that's probably not the most tactful way to put it, but by now Cas knows Dean enough to take his stupidity in his stride. He takes the bloody handkerchief away, revealing a rather impressive fat lip and swollen nose. It’s not a pretty sight at all.

“Number one: we’re gonna fix your hand-to-eye coordination pronto. Ain’t no way we’re taking you out if you can’t handle a gun either. You're gonna need a tattoo, probably hex-bags to keep you out of sight-”

“Are you guys trying to get yourselves frigging _killed_?!”

Kevin’s head is poking out of the door and his eyes are darting side-to-side. God, he’s such a hermit.

“ _Get off the road!”_

“Calm down Frodo, nothings coming,” Dean hurries Cas into the Bunker nonetheless. No need to get the prophet more paranoid than he already is, “Oops - I'm _sorry_ \- did you want us holding hands when we crossed the fucking road _too_?”

Kevin rolls his eyes but turns his attention to Cas, “Don’t listen to him, slouching will fuck up your back with a bad posture,” he taps Cas more gently in the spine till it’s arched nicely, “There you go - just like that. Hurry up Dean, breakfast’s going cold."

The second they step into the kitchen all hell breaks loose (not literally, but pretty damn close).

“What in the - Crowley get the _fuck_ off the counter-!”

“Dean -” Kevin tries to stop him but he’s shoved into Cas and they both end up bouncing off each other onto the nearby wall like ping-pong balls. Crowley twists around and peers down his nose at the irate Dean storming right up to him. Kevin thinks Crowley looks as smug as a cat on a high fence, with poor Dean-the-dog just out of reach. He's so entertained by this mental image that he doesn’t notice Cas slipping away.

“I’m looking for the tea-”

“There is none of your _nasty-ass_ _tea_ in this kitchen so _get off’a the freaking counter-!_ ”

“What do you mean ‘ _no tea’_? How can there be _no -_ get your face out of my crotch, Winchester. Hasn’t anyone taught you about personal space?”

Dean’s eyes bulge and he recoils fast enough to get whiplash - with him standing directly below Crowley you _could_ say his face is pretty much level with Crowley’s -

“OFF!” he roars, a vein throbbing visibly in his temple. He hoists Crowley by his shirt and yanks him down himself - it’s by some miracle that he doesn’t rip off the cabinets Crowley is holding onto.

“ _Release me Neandertha-”_

“ _Clean your dirty footprints off my counter and get the hell outta my kitchen!”_

Crowley holds his hands up in surrender and goes to soak a dish cloth - all of this, Kevin can’t help sniggering at, and then Cas pipes up -

“This is really good.”

They all turn around to find him already digging into a whole platter of bacon. He’s forgone fork and knife to feast on it with his hands - the method is certainly more efficient speed and mess-wise. Dean’s jaw drops, but before he can call dibs on the last few rashers Kevin is towing him down the corridor to the mission room where he’s then tossed onto a seat and club-sandwiched by technology before he can so much as _blink._

Kevin plants the first laptop in front of Dean and then pulls another one which he puts on his lap, and finally a cute little netbook is placed next to the first. Kevin clicks open a couple of his Google-map-morphs that have the angels dotted all over them. They're zoomed into the area around Nebraska and South Dakota. Dean’s eyes flit between the three and he can’t help but feel overwhelmed. Technology has always been Sam’s thing. He’s not a technophobe - he can send an email, crack some security cameras and do some bad-ass research on databases - but if you casually throw him in a Bermuda Triangle of maps and spreadsheets he's gonna get a little twitchy.

He slaps his knees and shoots Kevin a cocky grin, “So, do we start with Momma bear, Papa bear, or the cute little baby one…?”

“Take a look at this,” Kevin points him to the Daddy laptop and snaps the maps in a side-by-side line-up, “Do you see what I'm seeing?”

“Looks like the face of the world’s dealing with major angel-pox,” Dean mutters, frowning at the dots. The maps are laid out in chronological order, each one a couple hours apart. It’s instantly obvious to him that the numbers are dropping. He mentions this to Kevin who nods encouragingly and waits expectantly.

When he sees this is all Dean's getting, he sighs.

He points at a small cluster, “The ones that haven’t moved after the first crucial hours following the Fall tend to disappear later on,” the following maps show how the cluster becomes a single solitary dot, “I'm guessing that they survived the impact, but probably sustained enough wounds to stop them from getting to help in time... and then their dots go out - you can guess why,”

Dean nods solemnly, eyeing a few other places where the dots have thinned out.

“After taking stills of the same place over in time-lapse, I’ve managed to track which direction some of the survivors are moving towards,” he closes all the maps and pulls out another series of maps that are even more zoomed in, close enough to see the names of individual roads, “This is the angel Sam’s gone after. It’s not the one in Arkansas - I sent him to one actually closer which I’d missed before. It landed near Canton but it’s been heading up towards Tea,”

“Tea again, _really?_ ” Dean shakes his head but waves at Kevin to continue.

“Momma bear is all about hunter radio,” he grabs the slightly smaller laptop and taps into the thing Dean thought was a spreadsheet, which brings up a few wiggly lines, “Garth showed me it.  I kinda see why he’s never around. This system is _bogus_. You’d have to listen to it all - but basically, short-notes-version is that _all_ the hunters are asking about is the angels. I know it’s a big deal and all, but they're not calling in to ask about anything _else_. Garth tells me he’s been consoling more hysterical and weepy men in the past few hours than actually telling them how to kill things.”

Dean nods slowly, but then it dissolves into a shake, “No, you’ve lost me, what's your point?”

“Hell is _quiet_ , Dean,” Kevin’s face is flushed with excitement. All of a sudden Dean sees how happy he could’ve been had they shut the Gates with the Trials. It would’ve been them telling him over the phone though - he wouldn’t have got to see Kevin’s face light up like this. Dean nods again, but he’s not confident enough to return the smile because he’s not convinced yet, and he doesn’t want to get Kevin’s hopes up for nothing.

“There’s not been one demon, black-dog or other Hell-monster incident since the angels Fell! Garth says some other hunters who do his thing in other States say they’ve been getting the same calls - or lack of them. Maybe Sam _did_ do it - maybe Hell _was_ shut!”

“Sorry to burst your bubble, mate, but that’s absolute poppycock.”

Crowley’s abrupt entrance is so reminiscent of his demon-days that Dean’s fingers naturally twitch for a gun that isn’t there. There’s an unspoken ‘no guns rule’ Sam and he made once they brought Kevin back to the Bunker, and he’s _used_ to feeling safe there anyways.

Just one more thing Dean _hates_ about Crowley being around - he keeps alive the fact that old habits die hard, and some never will.

“Sam’s alive - that proves that the final Trial wasn’t completed. Everyone knows that when a ritual fails it _all_ falls apart. Anyway, I _know_ for a fact that Hell’s still open for business,” he taps his forehead.

“Please, don’t keep us in suspense,” Dean drawls. Kevin’s excitement has been completely extinguished which pisses him off. He’s gained back ten years he’s not even lived yet.

Crowley’s eyes go a little blank as he apparently tunes into the Demon radioand then he shrugs, “It’s quiet, but that doesn’t mean it’s _shut_.”

“By quiet…what do you mean?” Kevin asks, absentmindedly fiddling with the tiny netbook for the next snippet of information. It’s clear he’s looking for a distraction.

“I can’t think of a wittier way to say it, boys - it’s _just_ _quiet._ The hellions aren’t known for using their indoors voices, but I don’t know what it means when they do, and I'm not privy to the inner workings of their minds anymore - thank _God,_ all they do in there is bitch about each other," pauses to blink a few times, “I _am_ allowed to say that now without being smote, aren’t I? Casual blasphemy is an ‘ _okay thing’_ , right?”

Crowley sighs dramatically at both their unamused glares.

“I swear on my spanking new humanity that I cannot hear what’s going on, so will you  _stop looking at me like that?_ Will it take brick-walling my head and scooping my brains out with a spoon for you to start trusting me, or will you be won with cookies and good housekeeping?”

“It’s just - from _experience_ \- I would’ve thought Hell would go crazy without its King. Y’know, kinda like chopping the head off a _Leviathan_ , the body goes _blah_ all over everything. Makes a huge, chaotic mess and all,” Dean tilts his head at Crowley’s thinned lips, “Make that _pie_ instead of cookies and I may consider a truce.”

“Noted,” Crowley nods, pursing his lips in thought, “You make a good point, but _clearly_ they didn’t think enough of me to kick up a big fuss… the ungrateful swine. They're actually adjusting pretty well to my absence - in fact, if we’re lucky they might have forgotten all about me.”

“We are _never_ lucky. Yippee-ki-yay, motherfucker, you’ve just joined the curséd Team Free Will - the people with worse luck than Jon McClane. You'll still be on Hell’s Wanted List for _ever_ , so you're staying right here,” Dean says curtly, causing Crowley to drop onto a nearby chair like a felled tree.

“Dean,” Kevin clears his throat - he baffles Dean by actually looking _genuinely_ sorry for Crowley - shooting him his worried puppy-eyes-he-learnt-from-Sam (Satan) and everything. After all he’s been through, hiding from the bastard and all - fearing his own _mind_ was at his mercy - and now Kevin has the heart to _sympathise_ with the ex-King of Hell? The guy must be a saint as well as a prophet.

Crowley’s gone still as a wax figure, and just as pale. Okay, so what Dean said was dickish, but everything he’s saying - everything he’s _doing_ to Crowley is punishment he deserves.

The fuck does it matter if he has a _conscience_ now? Should Dean have to care about hurting his _feelings_ now that he’s got some? No. He’s saving that rare courtesy for someone who _deserves_ his compassion - someone who’s cared about everyone and everything _but himself_ from the start and keeps getting his ass handed to him for his efforts. That is the type of screw-up who deserves endless forgiveness and even a ‘ _thanks for trying, sorry it didn’t work out’_ every now and again.

_Too much heart was always Castiel’s problem -_

“Dean, there's one more thing you need to see - watch this.”

Now he understands why the video has to be played on the baby netbook, the quality is so bad that the tiny screen size hardly does anything to sharpen up the image. The shaky camera-work depicts someone running - it’s night time, the night of the Fall - and Dean sees a couple of goalposts which tell him they're in a football pitch, and the cameraman is focused on a muddy kid decked in kit. The sound is off, but their faces are almost jubilant, lit up by flaming sky.

Dean already spots two angels on opposite sides of the pitch. Nausea hits him when he realises they are heading to one of them - the sick bastards have this _look_ on their faces - that _look_ that teenagers get when they're looking for sick entertainment. They're nudging each other, daring each other along the way. While they're walking, the camera tilts back and in the night’s sky four more angels are Falling - there’s a loud gasp from behind Dean.

Kevin practically vaults over Dean’s shoulder to get to the netbook, but he’s not fast enough -

“Castiel, _no!_ Don’t look!”

None of them are fast enough.

The boys have reached the blazing patch of field and are poking at it with a pole. In the middle - it isn’t focused enough - but they can see a rough person-shaped lump. It could be a woman, but they can’t be sure. The cameraman steps a little closer and then it suddenly gets clearer - and Dean leaps to his feet. The chair clatters to the side. He tries to block it from Cas but -

It’s too late. He’s already seen. His eyes are so wide and he is so _pale_ that Dean hoists him up and rushes him to the bathroom for him to retch.

All the bacon he ate comes out. Cas heaves and shudders and sweats through it - it’s lucky that Dean is so used to dealing with sick/drunk-off-his-ass brothers (and fathers) that rubbing Cas’ back and keeping him upright are second nature. Showing him how to gargle mouthwash is a little more tricky (he drinks the first two sips), but then he wipes his face and they just stand there for a while, staring at each other. It’s almost as if they stare at each other hard enough, the horrific images from the video will fade away. He keeps them within reach of the toilet just in case.

Dean guesses that tears will follow, so tries to prepare himself - but he’s not sure what to expect from Cas - crying people always put him on edge. Sam’s an easy crier - maybe it’s just because he knows how to handle him after so long, but a long hug and some hard drink does him good, then all he needs is time to himself. With Cas - Dean has no idea.

Sure enough, Cas’ eyes spill over and his face crumples. He gasps when his nose scrunches up and the salty tears hit his split lip. It takes three sobs to cripple him - his knees wobble and suddenly he’s falling down -

Dean can’t stand by and do nothing. He catches him and cushions the fall, and then _fuck._ He’s practically got Cas on his lap, and they're curled up like kittens with no space in between.

Cas is shuddering and there’s snot being rubbed into Dean’s neck, fingers clinging to his shirt (another favourite of his doomed to being stretched out of shape) and hot, sticky tears soak the front of it too. Dean continues to rub his back, which means he’s awkwardly cradling him on his knees, trying to find some words to say to make it all better but knowing there’s no such thing.

What _can_ he say? Even he’s struggling to get the image out of his head. There was lots of blood in that video - nothing new to them, but even _he_ had to admit it was a gory scene - almost as bad as the Looney Tunes case with the anvil, but with the crushed body still there. He can’t imagine what it’s like to see your sibling’s insides become outsides like _that_.

Well, he can, but it’s… it’s…

All of a sudden Dean feels his stomach turn, and _he’s_ close to throwing up, but he tightens his hold on Cas instead. He can’t let him go, not _now_ \- not when he’s just as much in need of someone to hold as Cas needs to be held. It’s devastating in so many ways - Cas’ sorrow seems to seep through his body and into Dean’s. It’s _destructive_ even, that he buries his face in Cas’ hair and _lets him_. He _wants_ to take the pain from Cas - he’s going to hold him until the shaking stops.

When Cas finally peels himself away, something in the way he looks at Dean stops him just before he can start to feel embarrassed. That was _intense._ Cas looks grateful, and yet, wary. Dean pulls them both to their feet and wipes Cas’ face again.

He’s lost for words, stunned that he managed to do that - and yet, it’s shouldn’t be a big surprise because it’s all muscle-memory, like with the vomiting. Dean’s held Sam through his tears enough times as a child to know how to make them stop. He presses a hand on Cas’ chest to make sure his breathing calms down too - and just like that, Cas lets out a massive breath through his teeth. He folds in on himself and Dean knows that the crying hasn’t stopped inside. It’s not like he’s helped much after all, and even though he _wants_ to - god, he wants to - he doesn’t know _how -_

But Cas is still staring at him like he’s done _something_ right, and he _likes_ doing right by him.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” he blurts it out before he can stop himself, but it must be the right thing to say because Cas sucks in a shaky breath and nods. It hits Dean that - _Cas_ thinks he’s helped, and that's what really matters, doesn’t it?

He doesn’t think so, especially when the fact that he’s done nothing particularly helpful towards Cas' emotional state. How many more of these horrible things Cas will have to see? How many times he’ll have to offer more worthless condolences and his shoulder to cry on?

Soon sorry won’t be enough.

Like in most difficult situations, Dean strives to find the humour to mend it, whether it’s in poor taste or not he wants them to laugh the sadness away. Unfortunately he’s got jack-squat. There is _nothing_ light to make of the situation, but Dean’s got one last thing up his sleeve and it’s not even a _joke_ , it’s just a vulgar observation.

He peers over Cas’ shoulder and puts on a shocked grimace, “Dude _,_ did you eat _all_ the bacon?”

See? It’s not even a shitty toilet joke. It’s toilet commentary, and more of a jab than anything - however it succeeds in making Cas’ expression go from miserable to… a _different_ kind of miserable - more of a green-faced/gimme-the-bucket-now kinda miserable, similar to the aftermath of The Great Hamburger Binge of ’05.

“I may become a vegetarian yet,” he manages to croak out. Dean clicks his tongue.

“No way, dude. You’ve not tried a good steak yet or _hotdogs_ man, an American classic!”

Cas groans and glares at him, "Stop talking about food, Dean, unless you want to see more of my breakfast.”

“What else did you have?” he flushes the toilet and closes the lid, no need to stir up the smells. Cas shakes his head, Dean balks, “ _Just_ bacon? Nothing else? No wonder you feel sick, man. That was a lotta pig. C’mon.”

They slowly trudge past Crowley and Kevin but Cas stops Dean at the kitchen - at first Dean thinks it’s to do with the food smells still in there, but then he sees Cas doesn’t look as green around the gills anymore, just _nervous._ He puzzles over what’s got Cas all agitated - did the bacon really traumatise him so much that he can’t even be in the place where he ate it?

That’s just stupid.

But no - watching Cas carefully, he catches him glance ever so briefly toward the other occupants of the room, and he suddenly remembers _who_ he left Cas in the kitchen with before.

“Did Crowley do something to you?” it shocks Dean how eager he is to pin the blame on Crowley, even if it’s childish - he’s just too squeaky-clean to be true, “Did that dick _say_ something?”

“No,” Cas shakes his head, “It’s nothing-”

“Can’t be nothing - hey _Crowley!”_ he calls, drawing the ex-King’s attention, “What did you do?” he points at Cas.

“If you're blaming me for the wasted breakfast, I’ll have you know he’d already eaten half the pig by the time I got there! He has no manners!”

Dean stares at Cas, vaguely impressed but more alarmed. This _is_ freakily reminiscent of The Hamburger Binge. They're really gonna have to teach Cas about _moderation._ Cas shrugs sulkily in response. “It tasted _good."_

“Whatever,” Dean mutters _,_ “You wait here then, I’ll be right back."

He returns with a glass of water and coaches Cas through sipping it slowly to not upset his stomach again. Cas closes his eyes and nods appreciatively, “So I was _thirsty."_

“Yeah, that's cos you ate all the bacon,” Dean tries not to sound too sour, but he has to admit - he’s a little bitter about the loss, “So what… what happened in the kitchen to spook you?” he’s very tempted to go check that the footprints are gone, but puts that down for later.

“ _Nothing,_ I just want to stay in here,” he hobbles over to the den and sinks into the wingback chair with a sigh. Dean stays standing, plainly showing from his body language that he doesn’t believe him and he’s waiting for an answer. Cas bites his lip, “Crowley was perfectly… polite. He asked me, ‘ _So what brings you here?’_ and I… told him-”

“The whole she-bang, huh?” Dean crouches down beside him in sympathy, “So you're still raw about everything - that’s understandable. It’s not even been a day since it happened, man. Don’t let it drag you down. You gotta work through it."

“Work through the pain,” Cas smiles, but it’s a horrible smile like he wants to cry but he just _can’t_ let himself. Sam’s right, this whole thing _is_ really sad. “The Winchester way, right?”

“It’s a shitty way, but the _only_ way."

“But is it the _best_ way?”

Dean shrugs.

“There _must_ be a limit to how much crap you can stow,” Cas insists, “You can’t contain it forever and just _keep going."_

“That’s how we’ve always done it, Cas. It’s the only way, trust me."

Cas’ head whips toward him, “I _do,”_ he insists, “Of course I do, you know best how this all works - but… I don’t know how you do it. How can you ignore what you feel? The last time I Fell I barely even noticed it. The pain was gradual - my Grace faded away little-by-little so that it was more like… _forgetting_ how to do things than losing the ability to do so _._ But this time I can feel it,” he looks at Dean, and it both comforts and devastates him to see Cas’ stare hasn’t lost its intensity one bit.

“With all the angels Fallen, Dean, _Heaven_ has fallen too. Heaven cannot exist without angels - and with no Heaven, there’s no place for the good souls to rest. Where will they go, Dean? Will everyone be forced into Hell, regardless of the ones who deserve paradise? My family needs a home too, Dean. They don’t deserve this. It’s all on me. It’s _my_ fault, and there’s nothing I can do to fix it. _Look at me,_ Dean,” he squeezes his wrist, showing how weak his strongest grip is, “I'm so weak. I'm helpless. I can’t _do_ anything. It’s only _now_ that I feel like I'm really Falling, Dean, but that doesn’t make sense because I'm _already_ Fallen…”

“ _Enough."_

Dean stands up so quickly his knees crack, but he doesn’t hesitate to yank Cas up - almost pulling his arm out of his socket - and march him back to the mission room.

Kevin glances up with a frown and an apology in his puppy-dog eyes, but Dean brushes him off and shuts all three laptops in quick succession. Cas flinches at each one, and it occurs to Dean that he’s being a jerk again with this switch in behaviour - all of them are watching him like he's gonna slam them just like the laptops. He doesn’t know what his face looks like - if he’s visibly furious, a little ticked off or somewhere in between - but he doesn't care if he's being a jerk or scaring them. All he knows is he doesn’t want to hear Cas talking like that ever again.

“Kev,” he barks, stealing authority from him and leaving him just a boy again, “You’ve done great, but you should leave the tech stuff alone now. We’ve got a friend who can sort out the hunter network thing in a jiff _and_ keep the media off our back for us - I’ll call her in soon. For now, just focus on the Angel Tablet. If there’s anything on how to get an angel back up-on-high we need to know how to do that ASAP."

Kevin’s face darkens at the mention of the Tablet, but he agrees because he’s good like that and immediately goes to do what he’s been told. Crowley raises his chin towards Dean, refusing to submit to the piercing stare he pins him with.

“I get that you're not hearing anything from downstairs but I want you to keep your ears open and keep us posted."

“ _Yessir_ ,” Crowley mutters, slinking away once he's been dismissed.

Dean finally turns to Cas. He’s stony-faced after he told him ‘ _Enough,’_ like he shut himself away. He’s stowing his crap. It’s what he asked for, and - he has to admit, part of him prefers Cas like this.

Emotionless and strong. The two words don’t relate, they don’t even justify one another, but for Dean they _bind -_ they mesh together to build a workable front that is as protective as a shield - that is _safe._

Cas is one less thing to worry about if he’s like this.

Dean props his hip against the table and looks down at him thoughtfully.

Even with him keeping his emotions inside and out of sight, there are so many differences between his old-self and his human-self that stick out to Dean already. He’s a completely new person. A baby in a trenchcoat. A civilian. Okay, _not_ a civilian - he knows way too much to be grouped together with the people they save, and he’s pretty sure Cas still knows how to fight, which also makes him a lot more bad-ass than the Average Joe… but his gimpy body-control is holding him back right now - right now when they _need_ him to be stronger, they need him…

…to be an _angel._

Cas is still valuable for information though. He’s intelligent and brave, and he’ll get stronger with more training 'cause he’s a quick study. All of the potential of what he _can_ be will take time, but for now he’s got too far to go before Dean can think of something useful he can do.

“Perhaps… the demons are frightened of something that’s keeping them at bay. Maybe that's what's keeping them quiet."

Dean almost jumps when Cas’ voice breaks through his thoughts. His insight is promising, yet daunting.

“Something like _what_? I thought with all the angels lying around, being easy targets and all - the demons would, y’know, _take_ the opportunity instead of leaving it to waste."

“He’s not talking about the angels - they don’t have the Grace to scare off dark creatures anymore."

Again, Crowley slips himself into the conversation in, but still he’s being well-behaved and informative enough for it to slide by. Cas jerks his head in agreement and then shrinks a little. Talking about demons is fine with him, talking about angels - he’d rather not.

“It's occurred to me too,” Crowley continues, “Just like trenchcoat here is saying - there _could be_ someone responsible for why the demons are hiding away in their rabbit holes… but in my opinion they aren’t _enough_ of a reason to be the only demon-deterrent."

“Will you just say _who_ already?”

“Abaddon,” he sniffs, “I’d have thought you would remember that Hell-bitch is still around, and _while_ she is, the demons are smart enough to give her a wide berth. When she gets bored she gets creative."

“Sounds a lot like _old_ -you,” Dean goads half-heartedly, but his heart isn’t really in it, “Whaddaya mean she’s not enough to scare off the demons though?”

“Well, she’s a pain in the ass, but she’s just _one_ of the Knights of Hell. Compared to back in the day when they roamed around together, I don’t think she’s packs as much punch to scare off all of Hell on her own. There must be something _else_ keeping the goons hiding down there. I'm still working on that, boss,” Crowley mock-salutes him, “Ears wide open."

Dean grunts a dismissive sort-of-thank-you and once Crowley is gone, he admits to Cas, “I totally forgot about that bitch."

“She’s a formidable foe to anyone, but Crowley is right - there must be something else afoot."

“ _Afoot?_ Really, Cas-?” but then, the phone interrupts. It’s Sam. “Yellow?”

After that, he barely manages to get a word in edgeways.

“- and, she was just _there_ in the middle of the road! I mean, I almost didn’t see her-”

“What are you talking about?”

“- came out of _nowhere._ I swear, man - "

 _“What are you talking about_? Did you run over another dog, Sam? Are you even _listening_ to me?”

“- and _,_ Dean! I've done what I can, but I think she’ll be okay-”

“ _Calm the fuck down,”_ he barks and hears Sam suck in a huge breath on the other side, “Is it an angel?”

“Yes!” Sam’s bitchface smacks Dean in the ear, “Weren't you listening?”

“I was, were you?”

“Don’t start this now, man. How much did you get?”

Only then does Dean remember _Cas is sitting right there_ and fuck, he asked about running over a dog, didn’t he? And then he followed up by asking if it was an angel, which Sam confirmed - _shit._ Cas doesn’t need to put two and two together - he’s already intrigued by the call. He’s so close to the phone that there’s no point in putting it on speaker.

“All I got was that you think you’ve… run over an angel - I think,” Dean waits on the growing silence barely breathing. The tension in the air is stifling, “ _Did_ you?”

“It was an accident!” He hears Sam shushing someone and the faint sound of a woman sobbing. Cas clutches his arm and presses his ear to the other side of the phone. He can’t see his face anymore - of which he is glad - but he’s incredibly aware of the stubble scratching the side of his face - “Dean?”

“Yeah, I'm here,” he pinches the top of his nose and shuts his eyes. He can’t look at Cas now, not when he’s hearing about one of his sisters getting mown down by his own _brother’s_ _driving_. “Please, for the love of all things holy and _un-trodden_ , tell me you knocked her _lightly_ with a Kia and that she lives," he doesn’t think he will be able to greet Sam without ceremoniously shaving his delightful mane if she’s dead.

“She’s alive. Bruised, bleeding, but alive,” something rustles on the other side. The woman makes a small, frightened sound, but Sam’s shushing noises seem to placate her. “I think we’ve got some broken bones too but… there’s no way I’d fit in a Kia, you know that.”

Dean sighs, “She gonna make it?”

“Oh yeah,” he can hear Sam nodding vigorously, the whooshing of his hair - “I’m gonna take her to a hospital and get her patched up properly and-”

“Good, good,” Dean leans away a little and is relieved to see Cas with his eyes closed, probably praying for her or something, “So, other than scaring the ever-loving crap outta us, was this just a social call or…?”

“I don’t think she’s ever been to Earth, Dean. I can’t understand a word she says. Can you ask… oh,” he’s cottoned onto the fact that Cas _is_ listening. Let it be known that Dean Winchester can be damn subtle with getting messages across via pronouns, “Heeey Cas."

“Hello Sam."

“Hi, um… I was wondering if you could translate for us… assuming what she’s saying is in _Enochian_?”

Dean puts it on speaker and there is a crackle on the other side - a whine, and then they can hear heavy, wet breathing. Cas stares at the phone like it’s about to eat him alive. Like all the other things that are coming to him too slow to be of any help, Dean belatedly remembers Cas’ less-than-peachy relationship with his family just now. Ever since his first little rebellion, Cas hasn’t been that popular with his siblings. No wonder he’s so nervous to speak with his sister - he’s probably expecting her holy wrath, or whatever an angelic version of the ‘cold shoulder’ is.

The woman speaks in a surprisingly low voice and the Enochian bursts out in short vowels and clipped consonants. It’s not a pretty language, not at _all_ what you would have expected from ‘angelic beings’, but her voice is like a whisper which makes it oddly hypnotic to listen to. So low and quiet that it’s Dean’s guess that the little things Cas murmurs to her are him telling her to speak the fuck up.

He studies Cas’ face trying to understand what’s being said from what he’s feeling. It’s more his eyes, Dean looks to for translation, than his face - they say so much more than the flickers of surprise and then fear, fear, fear, that covers his face. Dean can see that Cas doesn’t like what he’s hearing but that it’s important, he’s agitated by the information he’s getting but his eyes are narrowing in concentration. There's a moment where his face clears, his jaw drops - and then he’s suddenly _furious -_

His croaky voice starts rising, his words become garbled and his hand hovers over the phone like he wants to somehow reach through it to where she is. Cas is _desperate_ \- he’s begging -

“-fuck, what are you doing? No - _no-!”_

“Sam, what’s happening?” Dean yells over Cas’ warbling wails. He’s having to restrain him now, and though it doesn’t take much to hold him down, Dean’s trying not to hurt him too - there’s something happening on the other side of the call. Sam sounds frightened which terrifies Dean.

There is a struggle - the angel and Sam are grunting, spitting curses and there are thumps - it could’ve sounded pretty hot, had it not been for the fact that Cas is hyperventilating and Sam doesn’t sound very happy over there -

Dean wants everyone to calm the fuck down, but before he can call for attention there is a sickening _snap_ and then utter silence.

Cas stops breathing - he goes completely slack.

Then his breathing goes completely out of whack - Dean clamps his arm around Cas’ middle, “Cas? _Cas!_ C’mon man, breathe-” he moves that arm around his ribs and regulates Cas’ breathing till it’s just a little bit wheezy but steadier, “That’s it, Cas. That’s it."

“ _Sam,”_ Cas gasps, and tries to shake Dean off.

“I… I'm sorry Cas - she just… she just - and I… Cas, I'm _so_ sorry…”

Dean wraps Cas in a proper hug when he realises what’s happened - it’s hard enough for Cas, knowing he got his family kicked out of Heaven - but to see something like this must be _unimaginable_. Dean is struck by the image of himself listening to Sam committing suicide over a phone. His imagination is lacking - he can’t get the dialogue right, and he can’t feel much beyond the shock - but the sound of her snapping her own neck is far too easy to remember. If it were _Sam_ in her place -

“Damn it,” he hisses between his teeth, leaning his chin on Cas’ head. There's no need for him to apologise for Cas with Sam chanting it like a freaking ritual on the other side. Dean just lets Cas cling onto him as tightly as he wants.

“…Cas, I know it’s not the best time to ask, but-”

“Her name was Raziel, the Keeper of God’s secrets,” that explains her whispering, “The angel charged with the protection of all secrets and secret-keeping. She told me that the angels- each one of us - have a secret we might not even be aware of. ‘ _We may never find it_ ,’ she said specifically, implying that the secrets are perhaps locations to something or that they are hidden somewhere. _She_ knows every secret - every one of these locations - which supposedly made her a liability… she killed herself to keep them safe, to keep all of us safe."

“By ‘ _all of us’,_ does that mean the humans too?” Sam asks.

“I don’t know. I think she means _everyone_ ,” Cas’ brows furrow, “She told me something else - something I am not sure I'm meant to share, but I suppose… she never indicated it was said in confidence."

The build up makes the Winchesters subconsciously hold their breaths. Cas nods.

“She said: _I did not write the Book_ ,” Cas pauses dramatically, “God did."

That is an anticlimactic sentence if Dean ever heard one - or maybe he’s hearing it wrong.

“What ‘ _book’_?” Sam obviously asks, just as Dean blurts out: _‘That’s **it**?’_

Cas ignores both of them - he’s on autopilot. Dean recognises the fugue state he’s in - where everything is numb and distant and you're just going on because you have to. It’s a survival tactic of the mind overruling the heart. He’s stowing the crap again. A shitload of crap.

“Every secret you’ve ever made was hers to protect. She would find the safest place to hide it - somewhere no one would think of to look - locked inside a grain of sand, drifting along in the ocean-tide, buried under the roots of a hundred-year-old tree, or woven into the verse of a long-forgotten song,” he bows his head, “Even though I've never met her before, I've always known _of_ her through the Host,” his face crumples, “…I thought she would _surely_ hate me, just like everyone else does - why did she say _sorry?_ ”

“Cas,” Dean starts, but lets Sam take over the talking.

“Cas, I know I said she would make it, but I dunno man - she was in a lot of pain."

What the -

What the fuck is Sam _saying?_   Seriously - what a _great_ time for him to lose his magnificent _tact!_ He’s rubbing salt in the wound - for Christ’s sake! They’re already _seriously_ handicapped on the comforting front with him failing at the hug therapy - this is _not_ the time for Sam to become as emotionally challenged as Dean.

“But I think she was really comforted to hear your voice… she was smiling when she was talking to you, you know?”

 _You're making this freaking **worse**_ , _genius,_ Dean wants to tell him, but Cas uncurls a little bit and tilts his head to listen.

“I think she was glad you were there for her, you know? She didn’t have to feel so alone. So don’t be so hard on yourself, man… you're probably freaking Dean out."

Cas extracts himself from Dean carefully and wipes his dripping nose. They both avoid looking at each other.

“Thank you, Sam,” he says quietly, and then hastily exits the room. Dean curses under his breath. He still has the keys to the Impala in his pocket, so he has no idea where Cas is going to hide this time, but he decides to let the guy have some space. He doesn’t know what to do with himself now, and without realising it, he zones out. He doesn’t even notice Sam’s already hung up.

He just sits at the table for a couple of minutes, absently rubbing the wet patch on his shirt which has soaked through the other two shirts underneath that shirt. It’s cold and gross, but it’s too much effort to go to his room to change. It feels like there is something unfinished in the room, something he needs to resolve.

Dean opens the tiny netbook on a whim and instantly closes the video. That helps a bit to relieve his jittery anxiety, but… there’s this hollow feeling he can’t name. It’s on the tip of his tongue - almost like disappointment, but blander, worse - something more like indifference. He idly fiddles with the icons on the desktop, but then he clicks open the internet browser and types in ‘ _Raziel’._

Google Images shows him some blue dude with pointy ears, so he sifts through it to the real stuff - and strangely enough, falling into the routine of research calms him down. He finds out that Raziel, the ‘ _Keeper of Secrets’,_ is known to have written a book containing all the secrets to be had. Raziel supposedly gave this book to Adam and Eve so they could return to Heaven after being banished, so they could better understand God. The other Angels obviously didn’t like this, so they chucked the book into the sea, and it was lost until some guy called Enoch found it.

Huh.

Well now he knows that’s a big fat lie...

Dean stares at the Wikipedia page, not really seeing the text anymore… really just letting his retinas roast from the bright white background. It doesn’t make sense, but by knowing more about her, he thought he could perhaps understand Cas’ grief better and grieve for her himself - but he can’t. He just can’t. The hate that grows inside him, ugly and vengeful, is unfounded and unreasonable, but that’s what it means to be human - he’s an irrational being full of inconceivable emotion.

He _hates_ that - for all the secrets he’s had and been kept from in his life - Raziel had done a piss-poor job of keeping any of them actually secret. Secrets unveiled at the worst possible time, in the worst possible light, were what caused his and Sam’s relationship to break down time and time again. Where the fuck was she when they needed her? Was keeping their secrets not important as protecting the _Angels’_ that they went ignored? Or was she just slacking? Did she just not _care_? With the way the world is - the fact that nowadays secrets are almost impossible to keep - he thinks she probably recognised a lost cause and resigned early on in the job.

Except - this little chat with Cas - what was that about then? He says she sacrificed herself to protect their secrets, but why the sudden change of heart? What made her finally take her responsibility seriously after all these years?

He shakes his head - just another one of Cas’ family who epically fails at doing actual _good_. What a freaking surprise.

Dean shuts all the laptops down and goes to look for Cas.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

  

Sam never thought he’d ever find himself _preferring_ to dig up dead bodies to digging a fresh grave. Crashing into the Angel had put him in a semi-state of shock, which made the monotonous action of digging breeze by a lot faster, but it still can’t quite get the image of Raziel bouncing off the bumper out of his head. She had been crawling across the road, so focused on where she was going that she didn’t even bother to look up before they hit.

The wounds from the car on top of the wounds she’d got from Falling left her so broken he couldn’t even touch her without hurting her.

Sam patted down the sandy soil and rested his ass on the car hood for a breather. The shitty car he’d stolen wasn’t a Kia, but pretty small considering - he couldn’t sit on the hood like he could with the Impala without possibly crushing it or tipping the whole thing over.

It wasn’t the best spot to bury a body - barely a mile off the beaten track - but it was far enough and sort-of hidden under the cover of some mouldy haystack. No one was gonna go looking there and the grave was dug deep enough that it probably wouldn’t be sniffed out. Sam vandalises a couple of haystacks further across the field to draw attention there instead. He’s sure that Raziel’s grave will never be found - in the middle of nowhere, nothing obvious making it stick out, it's perfect.

He wipes his sticky hands on his jeans, squinting into the distance. He plans to call Kevin for the next angel’s location, just as soon as he’s had time to process things.

What. The actual. Fuck?

She _killed_ herself.

He couldn’t have stopped her either. It was like she was on fire - her skin was blisteringly hot - she screeched at him. He had to block his ears or lose them. She grabbed her own head and wrenched it to the side -

No wings.

When she killed herself, he’d jumped back - half expecting some angel wings to scorch the ground either side of her - but it didn’t happen, and then he remembered why it couldn’t. The Fallen Angels’ wings smoked up in the atmosphere, which meant that these _wingless_ Angels walking the Earth - or _crawling_ it - would die _quietly_ like humans -

Before he can finish that thought, Sam has to roll off the car lightning fast and drop to the floor.

He drops to the opposite side and ducks below the car window-height.

It’s the worst place he could have chosen for cover - the blaze that consumes Raziel’s grave and the heat still gets to him from above - but beggars can’t be choosers, and at least he's out of  range from the fire-like flame.

Sam stretches his neck as far out as he can without being in direct blast of the heat. He can _just_ about see through the side windows - a blast of white light, like a huge rope of magnesium set alight*, is shooting straight into the sky above. It reminds him of that scene from Lord of the Rings (… three?), the ‘deep breath before the plunge’ bit when the beam of light shoots into the sky, announcing that shit is about to get real.

The light goes all the way up into the pale blue sky where it dissipates at the top, tickling the thin ruffle of clouds there before the whole thing zaps up without warning like an upside-down lightsaber malfunction. It stutters to a stop and leaves the haystack blackened and smoking. When Sam deems it safe, he leaps over the car and kicks the hay stalks apart to look at where the grave had been dug.

He knows what he’s gonna find before he sees it - it’s dry grassland again, not a speck of soil out of place. The grave is gone. Unburied. Un-dug. All his hard work these past few hours - undone.

What the -

Has Raziel somehow… made it back to _Heaven_? He snaps his head back again, squinting up at where the beam met sky - there’s nothing there anymore. But if Heaven is up there, one _would_ assume…

Sam snaps open his phone again.

“Kevin? Listen up man - you won’t _believe_ what I just saw…”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Cas.”

There is no response. Dean groans, his belly rumbles, and the delicious sandwich next to him is taunting him. He’s already eaten - everyone has, except for Cas - who’s locked himself in Sam’s room since the phone call. His ass is numb, his joints have pretty much locked into place - basically, it’s gonna be a bitch to move after hours of sitting on the floor.

After the whole crying/comforting thing, Dean can’t stop thinking about all the shit Cas was going through and how Raziel screwed him over in life generally. It has managed to occupy his thoughts while he waits for Cas to resurface. So far, no luck.

Dean cranes his neck to see the clock - it’s late afternoon now. He wanted to go north to check up on Sam before tracking down the next closest Angel. He was planning to leave at noon, but he couldn’t leave Cas like this.

Cas _definitely_ isn’t coming along.

Dean’s not actually told him this _yet_ , but he gets no choice in the matter. Until he can handle a gun, fight barehanded and _drive_ , Cas is staying in the Bunker with Kevin and Crowley - period.

“Cas, _c’mon._ For the love of - Cas, if you don’t get your ass outta there right _now_ I’ll be leaving in five."

That gets his attention.

He manages to push himself onto one knee when the door is flung open and Cas is there. His face is still swollen - from crying and his nose - and he looks _awful_ , but his mouth is set in that tight line that means he’s gonna rip Dean a new one.

“First you can’t leave me be and now you’re going to _leave me?”_

Instead of miserable and clingy, Cas is _enraged._ He yanks Dean up by his collar and glares at him so fiercely Dean believes for a second that he’s got his mojo back and he's gonna beat him up like in the alley - how else did he get so strong this fast? But no, it’s just his anger fuelling him - he releases Dean’s shirt and his eyes go sad, and then he starts twitching madly like he’s gotta pee.

“I've gotta go," he says firmly, “Sam sounds pretty freaked out so I’m gonna check up on him. Then we’ve got a bunch of Angels to find and question. You're not exactly on best terms with your folks, so _you know_ that if I took you along that’d probably be a bad idea. Cas,” he implores, “You're _human_ now. You're still new to how it all works - c’mon man, don’t give me that look. You know I'm right.”

“You're saying I can’t help you anymore.” 

The way Cas backs away towards Sam's room has Dean tensing up. Feck.

“I'm not - I never said that,” he stutters, thinking _oh shit_ because he kinda did, “Cas, you're not-”

“Dean!”

Kevin comes running down the corridor clutching his phone. He skids to a stop and pants and stares at him, eyes wild with excitement.

“Sam called - he told me… he told me that he found an angel. On the road. She didn’t make it, but-”

“Yeah, yeah we know all about that.”

Kevin glances at Cas, “Oh.”

“Yeah ‘ _Oh’_ ,” Dean shakes his head when Kevin opens his mouth to apologise, “What else did he call about?”

“He buried her - he told me he dug her grave and did all that business - he hid her under a haystack, but then she set it all on _fire!”_

 

 

 

* * *

  

 

After a bit more explanation, they gather that somehow - Raziel has _Risen._

From what Sam described to Kevin, Cas claims that the blazing white beam had to be her  _Grace_ , and what Sam said about it shooting up into the sky must have been Raziel returning to Heaven - but therein lies the problem in the whole theory.

Cas insists that Heaven cannot exist without angels - but if _one_ angel returns to it, can it then by _definition,_ exist? If they go on to assume that all these disappearing Angel-dots on the maps are angels dying, could they then assume that they are all going back to Heaven? In which case, the whole thing was sorting itself, wasn’t it? The angels were finding their own ways back home. They don’t need to do a thing.

Kevin agrees, but points out the fact that - looking at the maps, it’s slow-going. It’s gonna take years and _years_ for _all_ the Angels to get back, and by that time the surviving angels might have settled on Earth. If that number’s the majority - it will be _thousands_ more people living on the planet. How can it support this unexpected increase in population when it’s already trying to deal with the overpopulation already happening?

Dean tells Kevin to hop it back onto that Angel Tablet. The answer is obvious to him - they can be glad that Raziel’s made it back, it’s a really good sign - but they still have shit to clean up. They can’t sit around twiddling their thumbs and doing _nothing_. Just from knowing how oddly Cas behaves, and how Raziel behaved, it tells them that any angels wandering around the planet are gonna be pretty easy to spot - and they can’t predict how civilians will react to all this supernatural stuff leaking into their world. Dean leans towards the pessimistic side by thinking it’s gonna cause mass panic and mayhem, and all the hysteria’s gonna piss off the Angels into being even bigger pains in the ass.

They’ve got to help the angels - help them get to Heaven quick. There’s gotta be a way to speed up the process, and this prospect spurs Dean on with a sense of urgency that also comes from the road calling his name. They have a plan - a fairly sketchy plan - to find more Angels and talk to them. Dean hands Cas the sandwich (tells him to _eat_ it), puts Kevin in charge of things while he’s gone, tells them a friend of his is gonna drop by soon, tells them to choose where they want their tattoos done for when he gets back (“not on the ass, _please_ ”), and then leaves.

 

 

  

* * *

 

 

 

Moving on from Raziel is lengthy in the way that for a couple more miles the fields of haystacks follow him, each one a reminder of what he’s just witnessed. Sam tries to put it all behind him and focus on getting to Sioux Falls. After the adrenaline rush, he’s in a hurry to find a place to crash, but it’s sometime past nightfall when he arrives and the stars are already out.

It’s never gonna be easy to think of this city without Bobby in it. Even though Singer Salvage was somewhere on the outskirts, everyone in Sioux Falls knew about it and about Bobby - the grumpy old drunk who ran it. Bobby’s place used to be the only real house they'd ever considered a sort-of _home_ , but now that’s a cool Bunker in the ground.

Sam drives slowly past the road that will take him down to the blackened yard that used to be Bobby’s. He doesn’t even glance at it. He drives onwards to a strip of cheap motels.

Out of the three cheapest, Sam picks the one that's pastel-coloured and would look more in place at a beach. It’s pretty vacant with most of the door-keys still hung on the wall, and the owner wearing a look of disgruntled surprise that Sam’s actually asking for a room. Not promising, especially when Sam spots a homeless guy sprawled over the outdoor bench, but he’s slummed in worse places - and the keychain has a hot little hula girl on it too. He parks and dumps his stuff and then goes out for a walk. It’s a nice night and he can’t shut off his brain. It’s still whirring in circles over Raziel’s Rising and the peace and wonder that it left him in.

He walks and walks for a mile, maybe two, till his feet are hot and he’s somewhere where the sky is clearer. He stops right there to observe the universe above him. The space he’s in has a vast, open sky. It’s perfect for star-gazing, and Sam loves feeling - in that moment, in that space - smaller than everything. Insignificant in size and importance. It’s freeing in a way that free will has long ceased to be.

Sam doesn’t realise he’s started walking again till he walks right into a wall.

A small chuckle makes his face heat up in embarrassment, but when he turns to the sound, he finds himself under the gaze of a pair of kind, brown eyes. Sam smiles shyly back at the man on the bench, a little confused to find himself back at the motel when he doesn’t remember turning back. His jaw cracks as he yawns - maybe the fact that his feet led him back is a sign that he needs to sleep.

He almost trips on the wooden deck, but catches himself - now that he’s aware of the fact that he has an audience, he is careful not to embarrass himself again. The man waves at him, his teeth the only thing really visible in the dark when he smiles.

“Rough day?”

Sam nods, thinking back on the day. It’s been pretty hectic. “You have no idea."

The man nods solemnly, “Well then, have a good night’s rest son."

“Thanks,” he says, thinking how ironic it is that a homeless man is wishing him a good night indoors while he’s left sleeping outside. There's a split second of hesitation where he’s about to invite him in for the night - he can’t understand his compulsion - he’s a complete stranger, but he has the urge to offer his room to him like they're old friends. Sam finds he can’t say, ‘ _You too,’_ without feeling like a complete douche, so he just waves awkwardly and then goes inside.

 

 

 

* * *

 

* Chemistry lesson: when you ignite a piece of magnesium metal over a flame, it combusts as a bright, pure white light. It’s very, _very_ bright, so you shouldn’t look at it directly or it'll hurt your eyes.


	3. Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even the dull and ignorant; they too have their story.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The secret word is as milk and honey upon the tongue. Let it be to you alone. The teachings are not foreign to you.
> 
> This book proclaims the secret of Rezial, but only to the humble. Stand in the middle of the day, without provocation and without reward. Learn the tributes of the reverence of Elohim. Turn away from evil and journey on the path to pursue righteousness. The secret is reverence of the Lord. The worthy go directly to the secret. It is written, only reveal the secret of El to serve the prophets."  
> (Sefer Raziel HaMalakh)
> 
>  
> 
> ***
> 
>  

Sam dreams that he is high up in the air. It's not that unfamiliar a view, but feeling small and weightless is. The sky is milky grey and the floor scattered with leaves. He can feel his bones pulling at his joints, his muscles straining and the roughness of wood bark cutting into his soft hands -  and that's how he know he's hanging from a tree.

He doesn't remember climbing many trees as a child. Walls, fences - yes. Being the smallest Winchester, he'd often been the one to squeeze into the harder-to-reach places and climb up high to safety, using Dean's shoulders and back as the ladder to boost him up. But he doesn't remember this tree, he doesn't know this place, and it’s got this vibe that gets under his skin and makes him frightened yet mellow - oddly resigned to whatever monster will come crashing through this dream to twist it into a nightmare.

 _It’s going to happen_ , he thinks, completely calm, and when he peeks down and Dean is there, he is filled with relief - so glad he won’t be alone to face whatever is about to happen. Dean is grinning up at him, two missing front teeth and a face full of freckles. He has to be around eight, which makes Sam four - this is a childhood dream then, but from when? There isn’t a single day in his childhood he remembers like this. Dean's saying something but he's too far away to be heard, so Sam just nods and tries to breathe slowly.

Its then that he realises the branch he's on is shaking. He's dangling from his hands, clinging on for dear life - it can’t take his weight for much longer. He’s gonna fall. It's such a long way down, he thinks. He's not just gonna break some bones, he's gonna plummet and  _die._  

Sam doesn't want to look down but _Dean_ is there, and it's ironic that his greatest source of comfort is somewhere he can't bear to look. What he'd thought was a happy grin is in fact a grim-faced attempt at reassurance. Dean knows. He opens his arms, and it doesn't take a genius to figure out what he's suggesting. Sam shakes his head… but he can’t hold on forever. He knows without looking that Dean is positioning himself below to catch him, but with how high up he is the force of him landing will crush them both.

They're both too _small_.

With this sinking realisation, Sam lets go of the branch knowing that either way - he can't hold on any longer, and what happens from that point on is also out of his hands. They scream and he allows himself the comfort of knowing Dean is down there to catch him - he'll be there. But when the ground finally rises up to meet him and he readies himself for bone-crushing impact - the arms that catch him aren't those of a child. He doesn't crash into another small body. They don't _die._

Sam opens his eyes and sees Dean-the-adult as he knows him, cradling him with fear written all over his face. He is saying something to him again, but it's muffled. Sam knows Dean better than anybody. He doesn’t need to hear him to know that he is begging. For some reason, Dean is besides himself with grief. Sam tries to ask him what’s wrong, but he can't speak. He can't move a single thing.

The world lurches as Dean swings them both up and then Sam feels himself being lowered and is glad he's being set down on the soft grass, but then Dean lowers him down further. His head rolls back and he sees dark soil - rich, deep earthy smells surround him and the chill of being swallowed by the shade - he realises far too late what's happening. He doesn't have time to panic before he is lowered into the grave and dried leaves and soil rain down on him.

He can do nothing but stare up at his brother as he leans back and peers down at him, tears pouring down his face and landing on his. The tear drops are warm on his lips. The fear of being buried alive fizzles down into nothing as he closes his eyes and surrenders to the first shovel of dirt that lands. When he opens them again -

It isn't Dean up there looking down at him. It's someone else, someone bigger. They lift a handful of earth which covers him head to toe. He doesn't understand how that can be, but the next handful is heavier, like a thick duvet. Sam almost tears the clinging, sweaty bedsheets off when he wakes up for real.

He gets on with the morning, taking being buried alive in his stride. It was only a dream, after all, and it was nothing compared to Hell. Many things are nothing compared to Hell. He can vouch for that.

Everything is packed up and shoved in the trunk and then he checks the bumper one more time for any remaining Angel guts on it. He's cleaned and polished it twice since leaving the haystacks but can't shake the feeling that he's missed a spot somewhere. He knows it’s just paranoia driving him spare, but he can't pinpoint what's keeping him on edge.

After returning the room keys, he makes his way back to the car but then stops.

It's the _smell_ that makes him anxious of being found out. When Raziel Rose, her scorched meat suit billowed clouds of acrid burnt flesh everywhere. He'd had no choice but to haul ass outta there after dumping two haystacks on top of the grave, because there was nothing he could do to mask that powerful smell - but in that time he breathed it in. It’s a miracle he didn’t pass out from blinding nausea.

Even now he feels like the smell is chasing him. Like the blood crusted under his fingernails, it’s hard to get rid of.

Sam takes the quickest route to the highway. He just wants to get away as fast as possible. The roads are deserted - it’s too early in the morning for commuters, but the whole place is emptied like a ghost town.

The silence is unnerving, and as he turns the next corner he sees there are two houses there that share a collapsed side, almost cartoon-like in the way it looks like something huge ran in between them, leaving destruction in its wake. The walls facing each other are burnt down, crumbling bricks and debris have spilled everywhere in the spaces between the houses out into the front yard. The houses lean into their gaping sides like they are swaying in pain, like the damage they've sustained are mortal wounds and they're struggling to stay upright.

There’s another wreckage a few roads up where an Angel hit the back steps of a dainty little church. The plumes of smoke from a few distant buildings are made more visible in the morning sunlight. He counts four, possibly five of them, and then realises he's following one of Dean's worse habits -  _keep your eyes on the road, idjit._  

He's pretty confident in his driving skills, like Dean, so it totally catches him when -

"Shit!"

\- he almost drives right into a man standing in the middle of the road. 

He swerves out of the way just in time. He only got a brief glance but immediately recognises the man from the night before. The man staggers over to Sam's door and taps on the window. He cranks it open warily.

"Are you okay, man?"

The words are taken right out of his mouth. Sam blinks up at the man in disbelief, his jaw dropped open.

"Am I - are  _you_  okay? Jesus Christ - I almost ran you over! Why the _fuck_ are you standing in the middle of the road like that? Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

The man shrugs in the same casual way those people who are "at peace" with everything in the world (even their own deaths, apparently) do. He notices that the man isn't actually dark skinned or wearing brown clothes, he's just covered head to toe in dried, flaking mud. The only thing that stands out is his white, shiny teeth when he smiles.

When Sam crawls out of the car and rises to full height, he finds the top of the guy’s head only comes to his chest - nothing new, but for a split second he remembers the _tree_ , being high up in the air -

He comes back to reality to find himself holding out his arms, reaching for Dean. He _just_ stops himself inches away from hugging the man - the _stranger_. _What the hell are you doing?_ he chides himself and switches the movement into an elaborate handshake (rather smoothly too, he must add). He remembers - his arms were reaching out to the Dean in his dream, he was waiting to be caught -

The man takes his hand... but then, he can't even explain it, but suddenly a handshake seems too formal for this guy. Maybe it’s the shoes he unknowingly filled ( _Dean - smiling reassurance -)_ or the twitch of amusement his mouth gives, but Sam knows he's held on too long when the man inclines his head, warm and familiar. He hears Dean cooing " _gaaaaaaaay"_  in his head and clears his throat awkwardly - but then, the man speaks:

"Have you noticed that the streets are empty, son? There was no one there to run me over before you rolled by. Eyes on the road, man. A little careless to be speeding after your last bump in the road, don'tcha think?"

Sam physically recoils - how the hell does he know about that? There’s _no_ way he could know, unless - _unless_ -

"Ang- you're an  _Angel,_ " he whips out his gun - "You're an Angel."

"Whoa, brah. No guns, please," the man flips his palms up in a peace offering and he... he lowers his gun. He stares at his own hands in disbelief, but there’s no spell cast on them. He just doesn't feel _threatened_. He's facing an Angel and wants to  _trust_  him. Weird doesn't even begin to describe it.

"How come you aren't an Angel-pancake? You guys-” Sam waves his hand at the wreckage not too far away, “- you know - all crash-landed yourselves. And why are you covered in all of... that?"

"This isn’t shit. I was just very lucky to land in a swamp.”

"How did you know I was coming? How do you know where I've been? I thought you guys were all out of Angel powers now. Doesn’t that mean you can’t peek in on us anymore?"

"Eh, I have my ways. Got my secrets," he glances meaningfully at Sam, who shrinks under it.

Sam holds out his hand again to introduce himself, "Sam Winchester... but I'm guessing you guys have already heard plenty about me up there." 

The Angel shakes his hand again jovially, "Oh yes, plenty. Raguel, it's a pleasure."

Sam snorts, "A pleasure, really? You sure?"

Raguel laughs, "You and your brother have certainly shaken things up, but it's fine by me. Certainly, it's nice to meet one of the infamous Winchesters who have taken in my dear little brother."

Sam flinches, "Cas is -"

"My brother,” there's something possessive in those words, but Sam recognises the tone to be loving, “I followed him to war, and I still follow him now. I love him as I always have. I am your friend through him, Sam -"

"Whoa, okay, calm down, I'm just... it's a little rare to meet an Angel who _likes_ him, you know? But that's great, I guess. Cas is really... he really-"

"He's been alone through much of this, but I would've stepped in if he truly needed me. I knew he was in good hands,” he shrugs, “And I would say everything's turned out pretty well so far-"

"Pretty well? _Pretty well_ -?!"

"Yeah, well... as well as it _could_ considering how you all decided to " _ripped out the pages and started your own story_ ". I’d like to ask you more about that someday, but before we end up spending all day in the middle of this road, would you mind giving me a lift?" Sam shakes his head, "Excellent. Let’s go."

"I'm guessing you know where I'm going?” Raguel shrugs, but his expression says _yes_ , “Even I don’t know where I'm going. Where are _you_ headed to?"

"Nowhere in particular," Raguel hooks his left foot out of the window and - no seat belt, of course - waves his hand around nonchalantly, "Wherever the road may take us. Just go wherever you need to and I'll stop you when I want to get off."

"Can't fly then," Sam can't help but point out. Raguel just hums in agreement, "What else _can't_ you do? Are you all human now?"

"’m not gonna give all my secrets away, boy,” Raguel’s smile turns apologetic, but he rolls his eyes at Sam’s pout, “Nothing personal, just not my secrets to tell.”

Sam sighs, “Everyone’s saying that.” Okay so _two_ people said that, but hey, he’s in the mood for exaggerating.

Then Raguel leans in, as if to impart a _secret,_ “If I was able to know about your little run-in with Raziel and I don’t gotta phone, how do you think I came across that information?” Sam’s eyes widen and Raguel nods, “Perhaps from some _otherworldly_ connections?”

“So you guys still have mojo!” Sam exclaims, much to Raguel’s puzzlement. “Your Grace - you still have some of it?” The Angel nods slowly.

“Some of us might even have already regained our wings."

This makes Sam perk up in interest, "You - so you're saying that Raziel  _did_  -"

"Maybe, but I'm not saying anything."

"Yeah okay... but you  _know_  we - we only want to help all of you get back," Sam drums his fingers on the wheel anxiously. He already knows it’s not something Raguel is gonna budge on, "Is there _nothing_ else you can tell us?"

Raguel hums, "Well _,_ Castiel has the right idea with what he assumes the secrets are _about_ ," Sam blinks, rifling through his brain for Cas’ low gravel-voice: …  _implying that the secrets are perhaps locations to something or that they are hidden somewhere_ … "She couldn't stay on Earth because the way things are - we're weak, we’re no good for fighting demons. They may be hiding in hell for now, but they're still too close to be safe."

That would suggest that these secrets were something the demons might want, something that might give them an advantage over the Angels.

Not good.

"So all of this is a matter of helping you guys find your way back?" Raguel shrugs, "But there are thousands of you!"

"Most of us know how to find our own way - you saw that with Raziel. That's not the problem. What you must think about is where the Angels will go once they've got their Grace back. Where  _can_  they go when there is no Heaven to return to?"

Sam blinks, "I haven't really thought about it-"

"There’s nowhere for us, not permanently at least. We have no home to go to, no orders to follow. Each one of us is _alone_ for the first time  _ever_. Others like Raziel will soon realise this, and they will return to Earth when they find there's nowhere else to go."

Sam's face pales when he gets where Raguel is going with this, "They'll come back to Earth... as Angels."

_Fully-charged Angels._

Fully-charged Angels barred from the Heaven they were cast out of.

Seeking refuge on the planet they were exiled to.

Raguel nods, "Now you see the problem."

"What are you trying to say? You're all gonna end up here and start... smiting people?"

"Depends on how pissed off we are. What worries me most is how powerful we are compared to humans - you guys can't travel in the blink of an eye, you cannot heal as fast as we can or fight with our strength. Chances are that we’ll wreak havoc on you lot purely by accident," at Sam's vacant stare, he bites his lip, "We're gonna be clumsy-footed giants stumbling around you puny little mice, not watching where we step and probably catching millions of you underfoot."

Sam doesn't know what he's meant to say to this - _please don't? Why us? Why any of this? What do we do?_

"What can we do?" he whispers, heart thudding painfully, “To stop this - what _can_ we do?”

"You don't _gotta_ a thing, boy,” Raguel smiles grimly at him, “The Angels can Rise on their own, as Raziel showed you, so if you wait long enough all of us will float away in our own time... but what you gotta think is how long that’s gonna take. Heaven will only re-establish when we are _all_ Risen. How much damage can you take in that time? How wrathful are the Angels gonna get when they realise they're stuck in the mud until then?"

Sam hastily pulls over to the kerb a when Raguel motions for him to stop. He's so not done with all the questions he wants to ask, but it seems that Raguel is, and so he clambers out, long limbs dragging and joints popping from all over his body. He shakes Sam's hand, and extends it into a half man-hug.

"You don't gotta do a thing," he repeats quietly and then goes to the other side of the street. "Everything's gonna happen anyway." In a few seconds someone else pulls over and he goes with them, leaving Sam in a bit of a daze. Sam waves him off, and thinks about how easy Raguel can get around the world, hitch hiking effortlessly with nothing but his calm demeanour and kind smile.

He brushes the dried mud off the seat and grabs his phone.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The Tablet isn't making a lick of sense.

He's been on the same bit for ages.  It's not like regular reading - that's the problem. It's more like seeing ideas before they're even fully formed - like sharing minds with the scribe moments before they're chipped into the stone. He’s there with them. He’s holding the chisel and keeping it all steady with his knees -

Except he’s really not. Distantly, Kevin knows he’s holding a pencil and the paper is blank in front of him. He just can’t _think_ in Enochian - he thinks in English (and colourful Chinese when he starts losing his shit) so it’s like seeing preconceived ideas _in Enochian_ which is pretty damn _confusing._

Enochian isn't just words - at least, that's what he figures - it's more than that. It’s like an interactive movie reel, where he can hear and feel the prose move him like a song. An age passes within a second - _eons_ of knowledge crammed into one voice - one singular stream of thought shooting through his head. He hears and smells and tastes the messages carved into stone, and breathes life into it by letting it speak to him, letting it enter him and take hold of his pencil and write itself in English (and occasionally Chinese).

He wishes it wasn’t written in Enochian, ‘cause it’s a freaking pain in the ass. It was way easier with the Demon Tablet - and _that_ one had been hard enough. He’s gotta get it completely right, not just _'kinda, sorta right'_. One hundred per cent accurate for the Winchesters and no less.

Kevin throws the damn thing against the wall. Watching it smash into pieces, the sound is sweet music to his hears. He lets it crumble into dust... and then trudges over to put it back together again.

This time as he's fitting the last two pieces together he sees a pair of feet in front of him.

Oh yes, he'd almost forgot - on top of working through the Tablet block, he has two brand new humans to babysit. 

Whatever fun he’d thought he might get from being in charge of these two frumpy adults was blown the minute Dean left the Bunker, because Crowley already _had_ thousands of years of walking the Earth under his belt which meant he needed no guidance at all. The same went for Cas, who knew more than he thought he did about being human - apparently the last time he Fell he managed to figure out bus routes all by himself.

Kevin found that he didn’t really need to do anything more than making sure Cas didn’t forget to listen to his body’s needs and that Crowley didn’t mess with Dean’s (beloved) kitchen.

Crowley leans against the door jamb, eyes rolling high to the heavens.

"Trench coat is loitering in the corridor again, my liege. He's getting me all antsy with the vacant staring."

"Did he forget where the bathroom is?"

"I should think not. He uses it enough as it is."

Cas has an odd fascination with drinking - only water mind you, Kevin won’t let him near any of the hard stuff. He seems to find it calming to fill himself with water - at one time he said he enjoyed the sensation of being cleaned on the inside. Kevin suspects it’s the effect the bacon binge still has on him - the psychological thirst. 

This loitering business is not new either.

Cas does a lot of it. He stands or sits and just stares at nothing. Kevin sometimes forces him to move around from time to time, but mostly he leaves him to it because he's got that look about him - the one which begs to be left alone. Kevin's afraid if he pushes him too much Cas will lash out (or alternatively, shrink away).

Right now he's standing beside the mission room table, his fingers curled around the edge of it. Kevin is reluctant to disturb him even though he's not doing anything. There's always something so intense about Cas that makes you just a bit nervous to bother him, lest his laser focus be turned on you instead. He clears his throat.

"Cas, you gotta pee again? I told you to stop drinking so much. There's no way you can develop kidney stones in one freaking night, you know. I told you to stop letting Crowley show you things on the Internet - they're not all true."

"It’s not _my_ fault - look at him. He's not even in the same room as us," Crowley waves a hand in front of Cas' unseeing eyes, "See? His head's up in the clouds."

"Cas? Cas, are you okay, man?" Kevin shakes him a little more urgently. He is as unmoving and as unmovable as a mountain, "Dude, what happened? Is he... I mean-"

"He's fine. Just up in la-la land," at Kevin's worried glance, Crowley sighs, " _Daydreaming_. It's harmless. He mutters a bit, but I have no idea what he's on about."

"Then why did you call me here? I was _working_!"

"You were glaring _at a rock_ ,” he roars, “Feathers' stomach is making noises, so either he's disagreeing with the pizza we had for breakfast or wanting more of it."

"... _no one_ disagrees with pizza for breakfast - definitely not Dean's pizza,” Kevin checks the clock and balks at - _six_ hours gone by! He barely even noticed! He would’ve never noticed had Crowley not intervened, “C'mon, let's get some fruit bars then or something."

They all end up at the island counter nursing hot mugs of Jasmine tea and munching on granola. Kevin keeps an eye on Cas, who chomps on the food in the same unenthusiastic way a cow chews on curds. He has no idea if he's still on the same bite, because watching him eat is so monotonous it's almost hypnotic. Crowley's mouth puckers at the taste of non-English tea, but he doesn’t say anything. Kevin's been generous in sharing his mother's tin of Jasmine, so he'd better shut up and drink it.

He has no idea what Crowley has been up to but he's got dust all over him. Just when Kevin's reaching up to put the snacks back on the pantry shelf, he catches a whiff of his own armpit and gags. A glance at Cas’ dirty trench coat and gravity-defying hair tells him it’s bath-time for TFW.

"Okay everyone, shower time. I'm only gonna show you how to work the shower, the rest is all… you know, common sense. Cas, you too buddy. Hop to."

After ten minutes he comes out feeling more human than he's done for a while. He's gotta say, Men of Letters put in some awesome plumbing with excellent water pressure. Five minutes later, Crowley emerges from his room, pink flushed with a sleepy smile. He sticks his head out to bid Kevin a goodnight before heading off to bed himself.

Hmm, bed.

He'd been planning to go back to the Tablet, but - man, when was the last time he’d slept in an actual bed with a head and foot-board and _memory foam_? Garth’s boat had one cot, and though it was surprisingly comfier than it looked - Kevin couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable sleeping in someone else’s bed (that still smelt of him, _strongly_ ). He’d seen the beds in the Bunker, and though they were a little dusty, they were unstained and wood-carved and -

And he was _really_ tired. It was beyond what coffee could fix now. A yawn catches him by the jaw and drags his headache to the back of his ear canals, where it drones on - but it settles in anticipation of sleep - in the expectation of sleep _._ Should he? Can he afford to? The Angel Tablet is calling, time is pressing… but in the end, the call of _sleep_ is stronger.

Before he lets his feet take him there, Kevin remembers Cas is still in his bathroom. It’s his responsibility to make sure the zoned-out ex-Angel gets to bed safely before doing so himself, so he leans on the wall and waits.

Cas takes his freaking time.

Kevin ends up waiting outside his bathroom for almost forty minutes thinking he's drowned himself when he decides he can’t take it any more - his feet are pulsing and his legs twitch with cramps. He grabs the bathroom door-knob and then abruptly stops when he remembers there might be a naked Castiel behind it - but goddamn it, he can’t be squeamish about seeing another man’s junk when the man might be _drowned._ Anyway, he knocks first.

“Um, Cas?” he ventures, waiting a beat for him to answer. No answer. “Cas, are you alright in there? It’s almost been an hour. You should, uh… you should be done by now,” what a lame thing to say, he thinks.

Kevin waits a few more seconds before opening the door, bracing himself for inevitable wet, naked flesh … and then he sees that Cas is not naked. He’s wet though, but back in his dirty old clothes, and he’s left smudges of dirt on the most random of places on his way to sitting on the toilet seat. He’s staring at the underside of the sink basin with frightening intensity, as per usual.

Kevin sucks in a calming breath, tries to determine how close to losing his shit he is, and discovers more patience there than he thought he had in him.

“Hey there,” he shuffles into the room and absently goes to the first dirty smudge. It’s only a smear of dust, which he wipes off with his sleeve, “You okay? I thought, uh… I thought you were gonna have a shower,” it looks like he _tried,_ to be fair, like he got under the water… but then backed out, “You remember how to work the shower, right? Twist the knob, press that…” Cas isn’t listening, or he’s blanking Kevin. He goes a little closer to Cas’ side, but just out of reach.

From this close he can see that Cas’ unruly hair has taken an even more chaotic shape. One hand is twisted in it, fingers tangled in the dark mop, the other is propping his chin up on his knees.

He looks half-asleep, high-strung and jittery all at the same time, with dark circles under his droopy eyes - it’s more than a shower would be able to clean up or coffee could cure. Kevin spots crumbs of cereal speckling Cas’ stubble and recalls how long it took him to chew that one bite. He wonders now if he’d only managed that one bite, because the one word that comes to mind when he sees Cas like this is ‘hungry’ _. Starved_ , even - like he's battling a disease or a victim of poverty - it’s not obvious it in the state of his clothes or his hygiene, or that his body shows how little he eats.

It’s in the way he stares at empty space with empty eyes, _wanting_ for something. It’s impossible to say what when there’s so much he’s lost, so much he could want back. The thing is, Kevin doesn’t know Cas well enough to know how he can help.

“Do you… want to talk?” part of Kevin’s brain reminds him that these words have likely never been spoken by Winchesters, therefore it’s highly probable that Cas might not understand them. To his surprise, Cas looks up. He squints at him in confusion, probably struggling to process the word ‘talk’.

“Ta-” Cas’ eyes bug out, he claws at his own throat and hacks out a dry cough.

“Hey, _whoa_ there,” Kevin grabs a cup off the shelf and fills it with water. He has to steady it for Cas to drink, “Small sips. Geez,” he scrubs his tired eyes exasperatedly, “I know I said not to drink so much, but you _still_ have to drink, you know? Two litres a day.”

After a few sips, “I was thirsty,” he whispers hoarsely, shaking his head, “My throat was dry. Humans need regular food and drink throughout the day, as well as intermittent exercise and rest.”

 _Like straight out of a text book,_ Kevin muses, “Yeah, we do. _You_ do now as well. You gotta start taking better care of yourself, man.”

Cas unexpectedly bristles at this in such a way that makes Kevin go as still as a statue. It’s in these little moments when he’s abruptly reminded that Cas was once _not_ human - well, he can never really forget Cas’ previous species but these moments _reinforce_ a certain boundary between them. The way Cas stands and glides over to the door is cold as _ice_. He’s pissed off, and Kevin’s not sure what he said to provoke this reaction so he stays still and quiet.

“Pot, kettle,” he hears Cas mutter, facing the door. At first, Kevin is impressed at Cas’ ability to casually throw out condensed, yet comprehensible idioms like that; then he’s more surprised by it than anything. Cas has left the room so Kevin doesn’t feel afraid to move anymore and he goes to the large mirror to look at himself.

Cas is right. He was judging him for all his unhealthy appearance when he looks the same. He had always been skinny, but now he’s pushing it; his eyes are sunken and his skin is waxen. His nineteen years are stretched by at least a decade by the number of worry lines etched deep - it sickens him to think he _made_ himself this way.

And he had the cheek to preach to Cas like that, when it wasn’t really anyone’s fault but his own that he looked like this. It wasn’t the Angel Tablet that had made him like this. After his mother died, that was the last straw, and he let go of his self-preservation, just like that. He stopped caring.

If he keeps on like this, will he live long enough to see everything put right? Sam’s words come rolling back to him… _trust me on this - this whole "saving the world" thing - it's a marathon, not a sprint. You got to take better care of yourself…_

He grabs a towel before leaving the bathroom and follows the wet trail to the kitchen where Cas is standing by the sink. It’s clear from the way he keeps his back to him that he’s still peeved, so Kevin stops at the island counter and waits. Cas drinks three full glasses before turning to face him. Kevin absently wonders how long Cas will last before he needs to pee again.

“I'm… I understand how the human body works,” Cas explains firstly, tightening his hands around the glass, “I know what it needs and what it feels like to have those needs. It’s all quite simple really, but for some reason… I can’t do this.”

He thinks he's missing some crucial information to understand what Cas is trying to say, but unravelling those hidden suggestions would require knowing Cas better, which he doesn’t. So Kevin nods with fake understanding and steeples his fingers.

“You don’t want to be human?” he asks, hedging a guess to what he _might_ have meant. Cas’ head rises sharply, his lips pressed tightly together. His expression reads: guilty.

“I don’t want to _want_ ,” he says slowly, as though worried Kevin will snap at him, “I hate this feeling - this… always wanting _more_ ,” he puts the glass on the counter, “This unquenchable thirst is the least yet most persistent of my problems. When I drink too much I have to urinate, and then I am thirsty again and it starts all over again,” he sighs heavily, “And each one of these needs will become equally as insatiable. Nothing is permanently satiated. Nothing lasts.”

When he starts rapidly wilting against the sink Kevin hurries to prop him up and drag him back towards the bedrooms, momentarily taken aback by how cooperative Cas is being, and how warm and pliable he is. It’s a definite contrast to what he’d been expecting - then again, his previous contact with Cas had been a lot less _amiable._ He still has a phantom bruise where he’d pushed him up by the throat.

But then he realises Cas has given up. He’s disgusted by his own body, his frailty and his needs. It’s a frightening thought - to give up on everything is a dangerous thing. Kevin knows.

“This is all pretty deep stuff. I think you're just - I think we’re both just tired,” he shoulders the door open and just manages to squeeze both of them through the gap - pretty impressive, seeing as Cas is actually a relatively tall dude. He hadn't expected that, but he supposes that’s Sam’s fault for unintentionally dwarfing everyone around him, tall or small. Kevin taps Cas on the shoulder, “Time for bed.”

Cas pushes against him rebelliously, scowling and petulant, “I won’t be treated like a _child_. Especially not by one as young as yourself.”

Geez, so much for being cooperative - Kevin knows he’s lashing out and he isn’t too bothered by it. He knows out of the lot of them he’s the youngest by far, and he’s always been young amongst those around him. It’s kind of _the point_ , being in Advanced Placement and everything.

He recognises Cas’ frustration though and sympathises. He figures that he might have overestimated his understanding of what _being_ a human is. He probably knows far more about it in theory than all the physical, sensory and/or emotional aspects. It’s gotta be awful, having to learn everything from scratch.

“Look man, I get where you're coming from-” he holds up a hand when Cas’ mouth opens in protest, “- no, I really get it. You're… you're somewhere that you'd never thought you'd be, and you're stuck being someone you never wanted to be,” he _really_ empathises with that last one - it hits deep, “… and you have no way of going back, which _sucks_.”

Cas’ head tilts which maybe means he’s _finally_ listening to him - which, geez, took a while. He appears to have come to the same realisation - that they may share some common ground _._ It was shitty ground to share, but less lonely, knowing they were both stuck in the same boat.

“I'm not gonna baby you, okay? Just… do the same for me,” Kevin offers with a bashful shrug. It’s long past the point where he could ask the same of Sam or Dean - but maybe with Cas he can.

He goes to the kitchen and brings back the towel, but it’s too late - Cas is already sleeping on the bed, soaking in the covers. Kevin throws the towel on top of him anyways and lets himself out quietly. He hardly remembers the walk to his room, but next morning he miraculously wakes up in his own bed.

Instead of going straight back to his desk, Kevin sits up slowly and considers what he’s going to have for breakfast (even though it’s already midday).

He needn’t have bothered - breakfast was already waiting for him - English porridge. Crowley is kind enough to offer toppings of maple syrup and butter, though he cringes when Kevin adds the latter to his for some reason. Cas has his plain, but he doesn’t look too thrilled with the porridge overall. He can’t blame him because no matter what you add to the stuff, it always looks miserable.

Crowley shakes open his newspaper (where did he get one?) and clears his throat. It’s all so bizarrely domestic, like he’s walked into a sitcom or something (a _British_ sitcom, maybe), that Kevin stirs his porridge and uncomfortably observes Cas out of a lack of other things to watch. He’s not eating. Kevin nudges him with his foot and takes an overly enthusiastic spoonful of his porridge. Cas takes a bite of his own with a barely held grimace. His stomach lets out an unhappy gurgle, but he must be hungry by now because he eats another. And another. And another.

When Crowley clears his throat again he stops counting Cas’ spoonfuls and turns to see his phone in Crowley’s outstretched hand.

“Moose called,” he says from behind the newspaper, “Dean sent you a text to which you have to reply ASAP. Said it wasn’t life or death, but to ‘ _prepare ourselves’_.” Crowley rolls his eyes.

Kevin listens to the voice mail, the contents of which make him freeze and then slowly turn to Cas. The ex-Angel swallows and looks back at him expectantly. It even draws Crowley’s interest enough to flip down the top of the papers and peer at them imperiously.

He chews his lip.

“Sam says he bumped into another Angel, called… Raguel?”

Cas makes no reaction to the name, Crowley however, whistles.

“That’s one of the big names,” he comments, setting down his read. Had the papers been a little thicker, they might not have noticed them rustle quite as much - his fingers were trembling. “He’s a powerful guy, but he’s supposed to be a nice bloke.”

“Yeah, Sam said he was pretty cool,” Kevin agrees. The more accurate description would have been: _he was so nice, I almost hugged him_ \- but Kevin thought that would’ve been a little weird to say. It was weird enough to _think_. “Apparently, from what Raguel told him - he’s still _sort of_ connected to the Host.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It’s sort of like _you,_ actually,” he replies to Crowley, “You Fell up, the Angels Fell down - you have Demon Radio, the Angels still have theirs,” then he turns to Cas. It’s obvious, his question -

“I don’t,” Cas mumbles, dropping his spoon in the remaining mush. He pushes the bowl away dejectedly, “To be a part of the Heavenly host, one must still have their Grace.”

“Oh,” - _oh,_ he could’ve slapped himself for not thinking before speaking. Cas’ Grace had been ripped out - it was definitely a sore topic, which made him a huge dick for bringing it up. Well done, Kevin. “Sorry.”

“No,” Cas says, voice tight with frustration, “It is I who should be sorry. Once again, I prove to be of no use.”

“Don’t be like that,” Kevin begs half-heartedly as he scans Dean’s text. It only says: _i gave hr a call. shell be ther in arvo. sty outta her way._ What - who the hell is ‘ _she’_?

Then he remembers when Dean told him to leave the technical stuff and focus on the Tablet instead, that he’d call in a friend who would take care of all things technical for them. She’ll be arriving in the afternoon…

“A friend of the Winchesters is coming to lend us a hand with the electrical technical gadgety stuff,” Kevin tells them, but then something occurs to Kevin: _How do I know it’s her?_ he types back. _What does she look like_

_shes got -_

“Apparently she’s got red hair, has a tattoo of… well, we’re probably not gonna see that anyway. She… what does he mean by she ' _may come in chainmail'_ and-”

_\- responds to charlie and -_

“- your _Majesty?”_  Kevin squawks. Crowley pauses in refilling his mug and Cas frowns at him.

“Pardon?”

Kevin blinks and then dials Dean. Something tells him he needs more info on this chick. Who the heck was he was sending their way?

“I'm _driving_ , Kev,” is what Dean says firstly, obviously trying to postpone Kevin’s freak-out. Kevin’s already breathing heavily - you can’t blame him. Already saddled with the responsibility of minding two people he barely knows, he’s full-to-bursting on his social quota (which has shrunk drastically from tolerating strangers to _barely_ _coping_ ), and now _another_ person will be joining TFW. No wonder he’s panicking - the past year ratcheted up his social anxiety to being _incapable_ of handling than two people for company without getting, as Crowley liked to say, ‘ _antsy’_ (with those two people tending to be Winchesters, meaning their visits lasted no longer than an hour at most).

“You can’t do this,” Kevin grits out, slamming his hand on the counter, “I can’t - I’ve had it up to _here_ with what you put me through! I have a Tablet to translate and these two to watch and now you're sending me someone who thinks they're _royalty?_ ”

“Don’t be ridiculous, it’s just LARPing. She technically _is_ our Queen.”

“… I didn’t even know you knew what that was.”

“What, LARPing? Well… yeah,” Dean sounds a little embarrassed, even a little _proud._ “I’m not _that_ old, kid.” Kevin digresses.

“Dean, I don’t think-”

“She’s fine, Kevin. Seriously - she’s really cool and easy to get along with. You’ll be geeky friends in no time, I promise.”

“What if she-”

“May I speak with Dean please?”

Kevin throws the phone at Cas - he’s so _done_ with them that he can’t even find it in him to argue with Dean about this. The anxiety has him avoiding eye contact with either of them as he marches out of the room to his desk - it’s a weight pressing down on his chest, a tightening belt around his ribs. For once, the sight of the good ol’ Angel Tablet sitting there is a comfort. Kevin knows he can lose himself in it for a good few hours and maybe it might even calm him down before she arrives.

In the following two hours he doodles a grassy hill dotted with daisies. There’s a humming in his ears that form shapes in his mind. He almost sees a _colour_ , but it’s more of a mix, and there’s the smell of rain that saturates the air. The whole thing is a jumble in his head, that he tries to pick apart and put it in order, but it’s impossible.

Nothing makes sense.

“That doesn’t look like work.”

Kevin sighs and glares at Cas. “I know, thanks. I just… I don’t get it. I _can’t_ get it,” he rakes fingers through his hair and groans, “It was so much easier with the other one, and that was still _hard_. I don’t know. I don’t know, I _don’t_.”

The chair next to him scrapes back and Cas bumps into his knee as he takes a seat. The scent of rain somehow lingers, clinging to his mind. Kevin glowers at his drawing, hating how empty the hill is, but how the heck do you draw grass anyway? He hatches some tufts of spindly grass but quits when he realises they look messy. The drawing is ruined.

“Kevin, you are too hard on yourself. You must not give up.” He startles when Cas touches one of the daisies and traces its stem down to the hill. “Tell me what you get stuck on. Maybe I can help.”

This is a _terrific_ idea - Kevin doesn’t know why he didn’t ask Cas sooner -

“It’s the Enochian!” he exclaims, “I don’t get it anymore - with the Demon Tablet, for some reason I could do it. It was like translating Ancient Greek, you know, so it took some time to get used to and figure out, but I _got it._ I dunno - this time the Enochian is different. It’s like it sucks me into another world and I can hear things and smell them. I don’t know how to translate something like this. Maybe I'm reading it wrong.”

“It’s impossible for you to read this wrong - maybe what you're reading is right, but you need to have more confidence in what you see.”

“Is Enochian - does it change like that, though? I mean, from one Tablet to the next, I didn’t expect any differences.”

“They are bound to be different, Kevin, by their very nature. As for Enochian - I… I have never heard of there being variations of it. It’s just a language - a written, spoken language. What you have described is unlike any language I know.”

“Maybe it’s Tablet-language, or… or prophet-language,” he shyly mumbles the last part, but Cas nods with absolute conviction, looking far more impressed with Kevin than he thinks he deserves. “So… I guess you can’t help me then.” Cas deflates, Kevin back-pedals wildly, “Not that that's your fault - it’s just, you're not a prophet and-”

Much to his dismay, Cas’ face smoothes out and his expression turns stoic. It’s like sitting next to a block of ice, he’s so _cold._

“…did you talk to Dean then?”

Cas thaws minutely. “Yes. He says he’s going to meet with Sam, and reminds us to choose where we would like our tattoos to be done. Not on anywhere too private,” his eyes flit sideways in embarrassment.

“Shit. I _hate_ needles.”

“Anyone up for a cuppa?”

Crowley appears in the doorway with a teapot in one hand. He seems to have grown a taste for Jasmine. Either that or he’s desperate. He raises an eyebrow at their identical surly expressions and tucks the ‘pot under his arm. “Why so glum, chums?”

“Hating life in general,” Kevin chirps with false-cheer. Cas shrugs.

“Wow, you're actually making me depressed just standing here.”

There's a rather impatient knock at the door. Kevin’s stomach drops, as does his forehead on the desk.

“Oh freaking hell _no_.”

“Seems that we have a guest,” Crowley drawls, sauntering away somewhat hastily.

It takes him a couple seconds to realise Cas already has wandered off to answer the door because he can’t be bothered to and Crowley’s not going anywhere. He and Crowley share a look before darting after him - but the front door clicks open and Cas peeks outside. He ceremoniously squirts the intruder with a water-gun of salty Holy water and sprinkles a handful of iron filings to top it all off. The narrow gap only shows a flash of - indeed, _fiery_ red hair - and then they're hearing the dulcet tones of their resident Queen squealing from the onslaught.

“Watch the goods, Jose! Oh my god I need a socket. Where are your sockets? Dean said you have tons. My babies need juice pronto - oh hello. Wow, you _are_ dreamy. Awesome. Gotta pee, gotta pee!”

She blasts through the door like a blazing whirlwind, bringing in a shower of dried leaves and the scent of petrol and kool-aid. Kevin is blown away by her presence and marvels at how fast she can talk. She drags in a huge duffle bag of things and then sends Cas to go fetch her other luggage from the car. Her eyes flit around the Bunker, almost feverishly bright. They search the skirting boards - oh right, she’s looking for sockets. _Lots_ of them, going by the number of gadgets she’s clutching to her breast.

Kevin opens his mouth - that small movement was enough to cause her eyes to lock onto him and her eyebrows fly up _._

“Huh, you _do_ kinda look like John Cho’s would-be-little-brother,” she turns to Crowley and hums thoughtfully, “He’s right, most of this cast is hot enough to make me consider going straight.”

Crowley sputters, “ _Most_ of this cast-?”

Kevin’s mouth is hanging open. He closes it and remembers her name: _Charlie._

“Your Majesty,” he bows lowly, “We were expecting you,” he catches sight of Crowley’s perplexed face and shrugs. “I'm _Kevin,_ by the way.”

Just like he expected - Charlie perks up and claps her hands. She dumps her gadgets in his arms and turns expectantly to Crowley. “Well? My bladder’s not gonna wait.”

He blinks. “Right this way, m’ lady.”

When Cas returns with a monitor and tangle of wires hanging around his neck, Kevin can’t help but laugh.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

The Queen has completely taken over the mission table, more than a dozen different pieces of equipment scattered all over it - though she says most of it isn’t essential, most of her work can be done from her laptop, but she likes to have her ‘little entourage’ with her, apparently. The three men were sent running around to get her settled (getting her a _throne,_ a.k.a. the only swivel chair), but now that she’s been fed, watered and her babies have been juiced up, they decide to update her on what’s happened.

She whistles loudly, “Day-um. So _that's_ the reason for the light show. Should’a known it was them boys and the dream-boat, of course,” she winks at Cas, “Though I don’t need’ta exclude you from them really do I, sugarplum?”

The way Cas leans away from her is almost comical, especially when he grumbles and folds his arms huffily.

“Let me get this straight then - Metatron pretended he was helping you shut Heaven when he was actually doing a spell that inadvertently chucked _all_ the Angels from up yonder. On top of that - Hell is still open for business, there are like - _tons_ of these Fallen Angels everywhere, and we have no leads.”

Kevin shrugs, “We _have_ sort of got -” she shoots him a look, “- no leads. Nothing really solid, at least. Just a muddle of clues.”

“The thing is, this time we’re not fighting monsters or exorcising demons. We’re really just figuring out how to clean up this mess, aren’t we?” she asks, oblivious to the way Cas tenses beside her. “So, what do you want me to do?”

“Well, Dean said you're a tech-whiz and what we need is to keep this on the down-low. The Angels are bound to be drawing a lot of attention to themselves which is not good for us.”

“Okay, so I gotta contain the situation media-wise, which will be _easy-peasy,_ ” she opens one of her laptops and starts booting it up, “What’s worrying me is how long this thing's gonna last. Have you been watching the news? They're eating this up with all kinds of theories flying around, including: mis-translated Mayan prophecies, freak meteor showers, Transformer robots invasion - even, and I quote, ‘ _the wrath of God’_ \- which you gotta say is _pretty damn close_ to the truth. Now, I'm gonna try to tone this down a bit and go with the ‘freak meteor shower’ theory, just to keep this a little bit more in the realms of science, but I can’t do more than that. Everyone’s so excited by it all - I can’t change people from believing what they want to believe. Human beings are naturally _curious beings,_ and we all like believing in things that defy explanation. It’s more exciting, I guess.”

“It’s faith,” Cas mutters, to which Charlie smiles sort of sadly. She rapidly punches in a few more keys and then quirks a brow at the three of them.

“This will take some time, you know. Staring at me ain’t gonna make it go faster. Oh poop,” she clicks open a few web pages, “I'm guessing Sam was looking at these earlier, or was it Cho’s bro? (“It’s _Kevin_ ,” he stresses, but goes ignored) Looks like people are already interested in digging around. They're not just gonna be keeping an eye out for the supernatural, they're actually gonna start looking for it. _Damn._ This is _so_ not what we need right now.”

“Dean says it will slow us down,” Cas adds. Charlie nods.

“It will. Let’s hope everyone chickens out and we don’t get a mass panic on our hands on _top_ of this load of crap we have to fix. Otherwise we’ll be getting major road blockages and all sorts of disaster movie hysteria. Are you sure you don’t have any mojo left?”

The dark look she receives is answer enough, and then Cas tells them something even worse.

“Metatron not only took my Grace from me, he _used_ it up in the spell which means it’s gone. It’s all gone,” the tone creeping into his voice is familiar to Kevin: self-loathing, hopeless, “If there was anything I could do or give-”

“Shit,” Charlie pouts, “Sorry. That really sucks. You could have done a lot with that,” she points a finger at Kevin, “What else was in that spell?”

“Uh-”

“The heart of a Nephilim and a Cupid’s Bow,” Cas answers for him.

“Huh,” she chews on her lip, “Interesting.”

“Interesting how?”

“Just interesting,” she shrugs, “Hey - where you going?”

Not surprisingly, Cas has decided he’s had enough and he left the room without a backward glance. They listen to the sound of his fading footsteps, resigned and pitying in their own ways. Then Charlie narrows her eyes at Crowley first, and then she smirks.

“Nice to meet you, King of Hell,” she holds out her hand for him to shake.

He kisses it like a gentleman and smirks right back, “It’s _ex_ -King, I'm afraid.”

“How do you know so much?” Kevin’s backed up in his seat and is frowning at Charlie, “Why aren’t you freaking out? Are you a Hunter? Even then, how would you know about him, and me, and Cas _?_ Has Dean told you _everything_?”

“Well, I read. The last prophet’s wrote these ‘ _Winchester Gospels’_. This super dedicated fan uploaded them to the ‘net. Also, Dean and I have nice sappy phone conversations too. He gave pretty good descriptions on you guys. You especially, Cho-bro. ( _“Kevin!”_ ).”

“His description of you was rather vague,” Crowley interjects, “Red hair, answers to ‘ _your Majesty’_ … it got me rather worried for a minute. I was almost expecting someone else.”

“Do I detect disappointment?” she flips her hair.

Crowley smiles mysteriously, “Oh, no. Not at all.”

  

 

* * *

 

 

 

At first Sam thinks he’s imagining it when he sees a familiar black silhouette cresting the hill behind him, but the way it slides down the black tar road smooth as molasses is unmistakeable. The silver-gold gleam of sun kissing the right flank is only broken where a golden-tan arm hangs out of the window, and Dean flips his hand, calling him over to the kerb-side. Seeing the Impala and Dean will always be a welcome sight - and yet, this time the unexpected visit really shocks Sam.

He is totally taken aback by Dean’s arrival - it wasn’t _expected_ \- and as he squeezes out of the car-of-shame and joins him in his reserved shotgun seat, he has to wonder.

“What are you doing here?”

The pure… _accusation_ in his tone is the first thing he regrets.

Dean’s smile freezes in that way that tells you you're a freaking idiot for ruining his good mood, cos _geez_ \- he was just coming by to check on you, and now you're gonna be sorry that you did.

“Well hello there, nice to see you too,” he drawls and pointedly ignores Sam (who regrets not keeping his mouth shut, but hey, it’s too late for that now). He’s never been that good at giving the cold shoulder when it’s not _serious,_ and neither has Sam ever been that good taking it.

They break in seconds.

“Dean. _Dean_.”

“It’s like I can’t even frigging come see my brother without being given-”

“I know Dean, I'm sorry.”

“-attitude of a frigging teenager, I swear. It’s not like I drove _all day long_ to pick up your sorry ass or anything-”

“But why are you here, man? Were you following me?”

“Well, I kinda _had_ to track you to find you, Sam. You're not the easiest to… to you know,” Dean grabs a half-emptied bottle and swirls it.

Sam’s eyebrow pops, as does a vein on his temple. “…find.”

He watches his brother squirm uncomfortably, too stubborn to admit it and too smart to deny it. The beer is put away, along with Dean’s pride apparently (for the time being), because he surprises Sam with what he says next.

“Yeah… I followed you. I just wanted to see if you needed any help. After Raziel… you sounded pretty shaken up over the phone,” he shrugs nonchalantly, “Just needed to see that you're okay.”

Sam _doesn’t_ smile, and manages to resist from cooing at Dean, but he sees embarrassment flit across his face anyhow. Chick-flick moment is over. Macho pride reboot.

“I'm fine, Dean, but - you know, thanks for coming,” he’s just as awkward with this, which shows. They wait the mandatory three seconds allowed for spontaneous manly hugging, which - this time - rolls by without incident. They both breathe a sigh of relief.

“Yeah, well I figured we need to collaborate again before heading off again. Gotta get all our facts straight and all.”

This sets open the flood-gates for all Sam’s road-trip experiences - he talks about all the crazy things that happened with Raziel, and then his chat with Raguel - how deep the shit they’re standing in is, and how it’s not even really hit the fan yet. As he’s running over it, Sam can’t help but realise that they have nothing to guide them - it’s not like hunting a monster where they have an idea on how to defeat it, or what they might need to research to solve it. Something like this has never happened before. It’s all new. It’s not been solved yet.

“And we’ve really gotta get this sorted ASAP or our planet’s toast? Fucking fantastic. That really takes the cake, don’t it? If we don’t get a move on, we’re screwed. If we piss off the Angels, we’re screwed. I hate this, Sam, I _hate_ this! Why did Metatron have to be such an ass-hat playing Cas like that? Goddamn it, we don’t deserve this, not this time, we really don’t…”

“Speaking of Cas.”

Dean’s head snaps up - Sam’s tone is almost bitchy, but his face is already there: Bitch-Face #12, mostly used when Dean is being a bad friend. He honestly doesn’t know what he's done to deserve it this time, but Sam’s nostrils are flaring which means it’s _bad._

“You _left_ Cas.”

“He’s not _alone,_ I left him with Crowley and Kevin - _plus_ , he's totally done this before, remember? He’s a freaking adult who can look after himself so _stop looking at me like I left him at the pound,_ for Chrissakes…”

“Dean, he’s _Fallen._ You saw what he was like-”

“Yeah, well guess what? He’s gonna be like that for however long till we get him back on high, alright? There’s nothing I can do to stop that. He’s gonna be freaking miserable till then - I'm not gonna baby him. He’s gonna get over himself and then I’ll train him with a gun so he can join us on this wild-goose chase. Happy?”

“Come on, you can’t be like that, Dean - he _needs_ you.”

“No he does not - the last thing he needs is another person fussing over him-”

“Don’t you care that he’s hurting? He’s your friend-!”

“ _Of course I care!”_ he grabs Sam by his lapels and sags, “Of course I do. He’s got a lot on his plate right now. The last thing he wants is to feel like he’s helpless - I won’t coddle him. I _won't._ He needs to stand on his own two feet to learn how to be a man. Okay, Sam? He’s gotta do it by himself. _This is for him._ ”

The Bitch-face recedes till Sam is pinching the bridge of his nose to ease his headache.

“Shit, Dean. You're being a dick but sadly, I get it. Just, promise me you won’t do that thing where you play off everything. This is serious, you can’t tease him about it. He doesn’t deserve that.”

“’Course not - he… he tries too hard and gets nothing back, you know?” the speck of discomfort resurfaces, but Dean maintains eye-contact with remarkable resilience, “This whole thing - it makes no sense, like _insane_ doesn’t begin to cover it. Even the Apocalypse was easier to understand - this time the whole thing is completely out of whack. I wish we could just, I dunno, strap them all on a rocket to the Moon and pray for the best, or send them each a bunch of Bibles - Sam?”

Sam’s shot up ram-rod straight, his intense moose-thinking face on as he stares through Dean’s head. It’s one of the freakiest thing Dean has to face whenever Sam comes up with an idea, but he endures it for the sake of the really brilliant idea that’s bound to follow.

“Dean - the _book,”_ he breathes, a smile spreading over his face, “Remember when Cas said that Raziel said that she didn’t write the book - _God_ did?” Dean nods, even though he has no idea. “Maybe we should find that book. It could be important.”

“Yeah, how exactly do we do that?”

“I dunno, Google? Wikipedia - you love Wikipedia. _You_ can do that,” he rambles, “When you go back to the Den, look it up. It’s like… it’s the only thing we’ve got to go for. I have to keep going-”

“Doing _what_ , exactly? Running over more Angels with scrap metal? Having more little chit-chats?”

“Yeah, I’ve gotta go talk to more of them. There’s gotta be something they can tell us. Do the research. Ask Cas about it. If you leave the Bunker again, take Cas with you, man - he’s a part of this, same as you and me,” Sam calls over his shoulder before crawling into the ugly-ass car and leaving Dean to ponder about who the older brother _is_ anymore.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Hours later, Dean almost slips on the small puddle of Holy water and iron filings at the door to the Bunker. He rolls his eyes - nothing _evil_ can enter the Bunker, for Chrissakes - it’s another reason why he has to grudgingly accept Crowley into TFW. The place is eerily quiet - everyone’s asleep, and he yet he has research to do, so he shakes himself awake. Years of hunting have made it so he doesn’t need to be careful with walking in the dark, and it doesn’t take more than two seconds for his eyes to get adjusted to it. Good thing too, otherwise he’d have walked right into Cas.

Even in almost complete darkness, his eyes are bright and lamp-like, and they met his gaze head-on. “Hello Dean.”

Dean tries not to let it show, but at the sound of his voice, he relaxes.

“Hey Cas, you're up late,” he remarks, taking a seat at the nearest laptop. He wants to ask how he’s doing, whether Crowley’s behaved and Kevin’s translated anything, was Charlie in her medieval gear, and just - _are you really okay,_ man? He wants to apologise for leaving him behind. Just looking at him - he's wearing one of Sam’s tatty hoodies which hangs down to his mid-thigh; it makes him look small, but his skin is flushed and rosy - blasted a healthy pink from a good hot shower. He might need a shave, but otherwise, he looks fine.

Dean cracks his knuckles like a pro before diving right into Google - oh, he almost forgot - he grabs Cas by the coat-tails and tugs him into the chair adjacent. “Sam gave us some homework to do, alright? It’s about what Raziel told you - the book. What do you know about it?”

“The book Raziel speaks of could be _the_ book,” he blurts out the second his bottom touches the chair. Dean clicks into the search engine and types in ‘ _Raziel book’_ , jerking his head at Cas to elaborate. “The famed _Sefer Raziel HaMalakh_ , a Jewish magic book of spells.”

“Oh yeah, Wiki says it here…” Dean scans the text, “…the Sefer thingy was what Raziel gave… to Adam,” he blinks, digesting this, “ _Adam.”_

Cas nods.

“You mean, husband to Eve, Adam?” another nod, “ _The_ Adam? Whew. So, it says that after Eve ate from the Tree, Adam prayed to God, who sent Raziel, _‘highest of the Angels… to teach Adam the spiritual laws of nature and life on earth, including the knowledge of the planets, stars and the spiritual laws of creation' -_ dude, that’s… wow, that's - that wasn’t mentioned in Church.”

The webpage also claimed that Raziel taught Adam many other things - the power of speech, the power of thoughts, the power of the soul… how thoughts derive from spiritual realms and transcend into speech and action (literally from Wiki) - she basically taught Adam about _life,_ birth, death… ‘ _reincarnation of the soul’_ et cetera…

“Is this an actual book? Like, we can get a copy of it from somewhere?”

“Technically yes, it has been translated.”

“ _Damn_ , and there’s other magic books too… Sefer Ha-Razim, The… The _Sword of Moses?”_

“The Sword of Moses: the summoning book of Angels.”

“Cas, this is _awesome._ These books - they could help us out!”

“I doubt it, Dean,” Cas fiddles with his sleeve cuff, “They aren’t anything special. All they have are spells, rituals and chants pertaining to the summoning and invocation of individual Angels - it might sound impressive to you, but they're nothing more than Angel phone-books, essentially. And most of the numbers probably won’t even connect anymore too, now that we’re all Fallen.”

“But Sam says - Fallen or not, the angels still have some Grace - which is _essentially_ what connects all of you, isn’t it? So we could summon some of these Angels and cut down on fuel costs _and_ time!”

“Dean, I don’t think it will work. I sincerely doubt God would be as careless as to put such private information down in writing, lying around for anyone to read.”

The excitement dies a little, much to Dean’s chagrin, yet he clicks on ‘ _The Sword of Moses’_ , a part of him too stubborn to give up and accept that they were _nothing important._ Dean was drawn to the word ‘ _sword’_ , bitterly remembering _his_ role as an Angel sword. It had a long passage of text written about it, listing the ways you might _annul spirits_ , _blast-demons_ and _satans -_ presumably meaning other demons.

“This is crazy - ‘ _if you wish to_ destroy high mountains… _go down into_ fire _and… remove kings -_ what the hell, Cas? … _to converse with the dead, and to kill the living… to bring down and raise up and adjure angels to abide with you… to learn all the secrets of the world -_ this isn’t just an Angel summoning book, it’s a supernatural ‘ _How-to_ ’ of _everything_ guide! Jesus, if you got your hands on this-”

“Do you believe all the things it says? Don’t be so foolish as to believe anything, Dean. Moses Gaster also wrote fairytales and romance-”

“… _for a spirit that causes -_ inflammation? Heh,” Dean grins, but what he was about to say next is broken off by a yawn. Cas frowns at him.

“You're exhausted.”

“Been drivin’ all day, it’ll do that to yah.”

He curls forwards, wanting to prop his head on his hands - but Cas takes his elbow and starts tugging ineffectually at him. “Cas?”

“You should sleep, Dean,” he catches Dean’s hand when it goes for the touch-pad, “Research can wait for the morning. Come with me,” he jostles Dean till he grumbles and blindly follows Cas to the bedrooms.

Upon entering his room, Dean can’t help but smile goofily - it has the same effect on him every time, seeing his stuff decorating the walls and lining the shelves and scattered over the floor. He sways in Cas’ hold, the momentum tipping their bodies from side-to-side like they're rocked by a tempest or totally hammered. Dean makes it so he lands face first on his pristine bed and sighs blissfully, twisting to grin up at Cas’ profile.

“Did I show you my room? This is _my room!”_ he gushes without a thought to how much like a pre-schooler he’s behaving. “Isn't it awesome?”

His enthusiasm drags a small smile from Cas, enough to crinkle his blue, blue eyes. “It is,” he nods, taking a seat on the bed. Dean watches it dip under his weight and paws at the space between them.

“ _Memory foam_ , Cas,” he croons, lifting his arm. The mattress fills ever so slowly. _Awesome._ Cas laughs quietly - he can hardly believe his ears. Did he say that out loud? Did he say that too? Did he -

“You're tired, Dean. Go to sleep,” Cas reminds him, though his voice is light in comparison to his slurs, and it’s full of humour. Dean can barely stay awake long enough to feel his boots being tugged off and the sides of the blanket flipped over him like a badly made burrito. A pillow is wedged under his head, and warm fingers trail over his brow and ear before leaving, and then Dean is asleep.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Dean wakes to find the whole Bunker in utter chaos.

The delicate process of waking is ruined and lost in the kerfuffle, someone storms past his room, and the air is devoid of the smell of coffee - all these things signal a bad morning and a potentially homicidal Dean.

He throws open the door and Charlie _screams._

Crowley and Kevin appear on either side of the corridor, both of them gape at Dean.

“When did _you_ arrive?”

“Last night,” he glares at them, “Possibly early morning.”

“Geez, you almost gave me a heart attack!” Charlie scolds, though she briefly squeezes him in a hug, “We woke you, didn’t we?”

“What gave you that idea?” he drawls sarcastically, wiping sleep from his eyes. He waves sleepily at the other two… and then frowns. “… where’s Cas?”

Charlie squeaks, but it’s Kevin who bravely speaks up.

“That’s why we’re all freaking out - he’s _gone_.”

The words don’t compute at first, nor does he understand the need for panic - until he realises what _Cas is gone_ means. Cas isn’t here, safe in the Bunker. Cas is god knows where doing fuck knows what. He’s alone. He’s human. Everyone’s got it out for him -

His jaw clenches so tight, it locks painfully, and he slams his hand on the door-frame.

“ _Son of a bitch.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love researching for this story, but there are too many sources for me to cite, or perhaps rather - too few. If you type these things into Wikipedia and Google, I hope you may find them too and enjoy learning more about them. Please keep in mind that the story I'm writing is not an accurate or valid interpretation of these religious texts, nor do I wish them any disrespect. It just so happened that they fit in rather well, which is lucky for me :D
> 
> Also: I've always wanted to use the word "kerfuffle". That is all.


	4. Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexations to the spirit.

How could he have been so  _stupid?_

Why else would Cas have been awake that late? In his exhaustion he must've assumed he was just unable to sleep - but a more honest part of Dean spoke up, admitting he’d more than half- _expected_ Cas to be there, waiting for him day after day, loyal as a damn dog. He half-heartedly berates himself, but the bigger part of him can't deny that…the guy  _is_  annoyingly dependable like that. Unerringly loyal. It’s too easy to take him for granted and forget that he has a tendency to be spontaneous at the worst of times. Cas was waiting at the door because he was preparing to leave. He could have stopped him - instead, he let him walk right by.

Dean spends a few moments clenching his hands, his painful locked jaw preventing him from cursing in anger. The other three are just the same - but rather more stunned into silence. It takes all Dean’s effort to not punch something and with his thoughts churning with more than just anger, the overflow of _panicfrightdisbeliefbetrayal_  keeps him mute. As Sam constantly likes to point out - Dean’s emotional capacity is like the tiniest, rockiest stream trying to endure a giant deluge - hardly able to handle even one teeny-tiny emotion at a time.

Cas  _knows_ what the score is out there. That's what pisses Dean off the most - the fact he went out there knowing how much danger he's in. It wouldn’t be the first time that Cas decided his safety wasn’t important in sight of the bigger picture. What was his plan anyway? Cas was well aware of his limitations now that he is de-haloed and untrained in the use of standard weapons. Presumably he knows a little hand-to-hand fighting - Dean’s seen him do so and remembers how elegantly and efficiently he fought, like no martial arts he’d ever seen. But in this new body Cas is weak. He might know the moves, but he didn’t know his own strength… or rather, his  _lack_ of it.

What could he do - what did he _think_ he could do to help them? Cas isn’t one to rush in without a plan. Whatever his limitations may be, he'd have taken them into account - he was a soldier first and foremost, and going in and winging it was one sure way to set yourself up to fail.

“He doesn’t have a phone.”

It's such a trivial thing to say that Dean can't help but shoot the speaker a withering look - Kevin and Charlie take a step back, while Crowley blinks rapidly. He doesn’t know which one of them spoke, couldn’t hear who it was over his own damn thoughts.

“What do we do now?” Crowley is brave enough to ask, crossing his arms against Dean’s pointed glare.

“What do we do? Heck, where do we _start_?” Dean snaps through gritted teeth - “Do we at least know where he’s going to? What he’s up to?” they all shake their heads, “C’mon guys, Kevin - you were meant to be watching him.”

“I've been a little busy, you know - _prophet_ ,” he points at himself, “Tablet to crack, which I’ve been _trying_ to do-”

“You were also meant to keep an eye on Cas-”

“May I just say - Feathers didn’t need much ‘ _watching’ ,_ per se. The chap was quite content spending most of his time drying his eyeballs out staring at God knows what. Hardly anything dangerous -”

“Nothing you could see, at least,” Kevin affirms at Crowley’s account with a nod, “He was staring a lot, but how can we have known he was planning an escape? He might have been just waiting all this time for the right moment... right under our very noses.”

Dean grits his teeth in pure frustration, “Man, _everybody’s_ out to get him though. They're gonna rip him apart if they find him.”

There's a visible change - they stiffen up, straighten their backs and weigh the gravity of the situation in the heavy silence that follows. Charlie interlocks her fingers and cracks them like gunshots.

“Reminds me that I gotta get a start on with stamping out the media gossip - question is of course, where to start…” she shuffles away, understandably out of her depth, and making a sneaky well-timed get-away.

“Was he doing anything other than the... zombie stare? Did you say anything to him?”

“Do you think we’re stupid? Of course we didn’t say anything!” Kevin exclaims, "What do you say to someone who's lost everything? Nothing! You shut your damn mouth!"

“Depends on what you mean by ‘ _anything’_ ,” Crowley interjects, eyes narrow in thought, “Wasn’t intentional, I don’t think, but her Majesty _did_ imply that without his wings, little bird can’t really do anything.”

Kevin flinches, “He’s been feeling down ‘cause he can’t, you know… _do_ anything. Kept going on about his Grace.”

This statement causes Dean’s anger to flare again, “It’s obvious how he feels about the situation, what I need to know is what he was planning on doing. Was he looking at anything? Books? There's a shit-ton of books here - did he overhear anything? There’s gotta be _something_ \- I ain’t going on a wild goose chase, not _now_.”

They share a look and a shrug, but then Kevin _thinks_ \- sifts through the last few days for the brief moments he’d actually seen Cas - where he’d been, what he’d been doing. Most of the time he was in his room - or one of the bedrooms, at least; he otherwise hung around the mission table, moping. What did they talk about?

“He said he hates being human… and he doesn’t want to be babied.”

“All this _feelings_ crap,” Dean whines, rolling his head back, cracking his neck in three places and bouncing on his feet like a boxer psyching himself up, “Well, you know what that means?” the blank looks he receives is his answer. He pulls out his phone. “Gotta call in the expert.”

The dial runs its length and voice mail comes through. Dean frowns.

He dials again. On the third time he hangs up halfway and curses.

“Damn it,” - another person to worry about, “This is not the time. What _is_ it with people today?”

“That Sam?”

He grunts, angrily punching out a brief message. He’s half-tempted to stop with the sensible ‘ _think before you act’_ crap and just go traipsing around in the Impala looking for Cas. It worked last time, he thinks, all he had to do was blast his music and drive back and forth. But this time he could be anywhere. How long had he been gone for? More than a couple of hours, and Cas knew how to ride the bus so…

“I can’t deal with this crap right now,” he growls, rubbing sleep from his eyes, “Tell me some good news. C’mon - the translation. Do we have anything yet?”

“Grngh,” - that response is all he gets, and Kevin storming off.

Crowley shrugs at Dean, “Nothing yet, boss,” and slinks off as well.

“Well… you gotta give me _something!”_ Dean calls, running after Kevin. The kid’s at his desk, head in his hands, face tilted down toward the Tablet between his elbows. Hunched over, he looks like a sulky child refusing to do his algebra homework. Dean slams his hands on the desk hard enough to rattle Kevin’s head from its perch, “Good news, bad news - I don’t care. Own up - I’ve gotta hear it some time.”

“There’s _nothing_ ,” Kevin hisses, glaring up angrily, “It’s - I can _understand_ it, but only _I_ can understand it - ugh, it’s too hard to explain.”

“You _can_ read it though?” Kevin nods reluctantly, “That's good. At least we know your prophet-ness isn't run out. But you can’t get it down…” Dean mutters, realising the desk has nothing written on it. There are a couple balled up pieces of paper on it, more overflowing the bin. You can’t say he’s not been putting the effort in, but as far as he can see - nothing conclusive, _nothing_ \- as he said. “Fuck, what’s wrong with y- it?” Close save.

Kevin thumbs his temples and breathes deeply.

“It’s nothing _like_ the Demon Tablet. There’s no way I can explain it to you. You can’t _read_.”

Dean nods, backing off a little. The kid is obviously under a lot of stress - the last thing he wants is to cause his (possibly second) breakdown. There’s no way to help the prophet - he’s alone in this, as they all are in their own ways - unable to be helped.

He claps him on the shoulder awkwardly.

“Just keep at it,” he only realises after he’s said it how dumb that was, “You know - but don’t be too hard on yourself. Do only what you can.”

“What wise words.”

Crowley's at the door with two mugs of steaming tea, which he brings to the desk. He wordlessly places one in Kevin’s outstretched hand - the action is smooth, well-practised. The fragrant waft of jasmine hits Dean’s nostrils, and though some might think it ‘soothing’, it just smells like boiled grass to him.

“Thanks,” Kevin mumbles into the mug. He then proceeds to lose himself in the drink, so to speak.

To Dean’s surprise, Crowley shoots him an irritated look. Apparently he's done with the meek-and-compliant act and finally grown a pair.

“I was being sarcastic, if you didn’t catch that, Freckles,” he drawls, taking a long gulp of his own, "Leave the kid alone."

Dean rolls his eyes, “And what are _you_ up to then?” he wrinkles his nose, “Besides making _tea.”_

“Keeping my ears wide open like you asked. I’ve been listening, but…” Crowley shakes his head, but his expression is closed. Dean cannot read him - “Hell is quiet - too quiet. I think they're… they're all focused on something. I'm not surprised - those blockheads need to put all their concentration into doing one thing, they can hardly multitask.”

“ _Focused_ on something? Well that doesn’t sound ominous at _all_ ,” Dean points at himself, “ _Double_ sarcasm. I win.”

“They're still around though,” Crowley ignores him, “We shouldn’t let our guard down. Especially not with the new Queen mincing about. She could turn the war on a whim, that one.”

“The new Queen? You mean-”

“No, not your strange little friend - though she does bear similar features, with the red hair and self-appointed title...  _Abaddon,_ you ninny.”

“Shit, why do I keep forgetting Abaddon?”

Another thing to fear - another person to watch out for. The thought seems to be shared amongst the three, since even Kevin lifts himself from his tea to shoot Dean a worried look.

“We need to find him. He’s not that great at looking out for himself, I mean - he hates having to deal with all the maintenance. God help him if he can’t find a toilet in time-”

Dean winces - “TMI dude, TMI.”

“No, it’s not just the gross stuff - it’s just the fact that…. we’re always _wanting_ something. Always thirsty, always hungry, always needing to crap or pee or whatever else - I've never really noticed it till he mentioned it, but we kinda _are_ insatiable as a species and that sucks. I think he’s fed up with dealing with it-”

Dean tenses.

“- just to break from the cycle, he'd rather let himself go hungry or thirsty -”

“Hey - he’ll be _fine_.”

Kevin looks up at him sharply. Pins him with disbelief and pity - two things Dean cannot swallow down, no matter how many times he's been given them - bitter pills, the both of them.

He cracks a smile.

“You look well though,” he points out, noticing that Kevin does look a little more human than he has done for a while - his dark circles are a couple shades lighter, his scruff shaved clean - he definitely stinks less. He bites his lips, hoping - _praying_ , alright? - praying for Cas to have taken Kevin’s example to take care of himself, wherever he might be. “You’ve been showing him how to... do stuff, haven’t you?”

Kevin snorts, “It was more like bribing him with _my own_ health. He can’t be forced, Dean - I had to take care of myself first before he'd agree to do the same, and even then it took some - a _lot_ of nagging.”

“Yeah, I'll bet.” He doesn’t doubt that.

What could Cas be thinking, going off like that? He was desperate, desperate to _help_ , to be of some use - but what could he do? Dean wracked his brain for the answer. There was never _no_ direction to Cas’ thoughts. He always made his choices based on something he believed in - something he was willing to fight for. Whether it was the best or right thing to do ceased to matter the moment he put his mind to it - he took free will to mean free reign, which at times led to disaster.

Wait - _free will._

Where had Cas learnt free will from?

Them - the masters of free will - perhaps more aptly named the 'vigilantes' of free will. He learnt a little more from _Dean_ than Sam - but essentially the _Winchesters_ had been his (rather reckless) tutors of free will - and now Dean _dreaded_ to think what gut instinct or whimsical fancy Cas would choose to follow. What would _he_ do in his situation? What lengths would he go to? He would use everything in his power to put things right, give everything he had to give -

Oh shit. He’d danced to this tune before.

“Aw fuck. _”_

Dean ran - the clatter of china behind him barely registering over the pounding of his heart - he _couldn’t._ He wouldn’t! Dean refuses to believe it, but he can’t think of anything else. He has to get to Charlie - _immediately_ \- he skids to the mission table and rips out her ear-buds -

“Dean-!”

“Get a map up, quickly!” he snaps, and under his frantic eyes she pulls up a Google map, “Zoom in on the Bunker - I mean, around the Bunker. Bring it closer, till we can see the roads. There,” he holds up his hand, “Mark all the crossroads within a thirty-mile radius.”

Charlie’s eyes bug out at this, “Oh heck. You don’t think-”

“Oh, I _think_ \- I think Cas is gonna try for a deal!”

When Winchesters get desperate, they pull out _all_ the stops - summoning a crossroads Demon to barter with their soul was not the worst thing they’d done by far, but it ranked high above many else. He could have kicked himself for not thinking of it sooner - under such reckless, stupid guidance, it should come as no surprise to them that Cas would think of the same solution. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

“But he doesn’t have the ingredients - he can’t do the spell-”

“And the demon might not come anyway - they're all hiding in Hell, remember?” Kevin pipes up, but Crowley strides in with a grim look.

“The thing is, a spell is only used to summon - if a demon is there waiting for him, a spell won’t be needed in the first place. He might be counting on this. If not - despite the fact that what you say is true - remember, there is still one demon out and about,” he shoots Dean a look, “Currently the biggest and baddest.”

“Fuck,” Dean breathes, unable to believe it - but even less able to deny the facts. _Kept going on about his Grace -_ Cas would obsess about his new soul, now he was human. It was the only thing he would think he had of value - the best thing he could use to barter with.

He points at Charlie’s nose, “ _You_ ,” he commands, “Get these two tattooed and down to the shooting range. Train them up, Red. Get them decent.”

“Aye, sir!” she chirps with a salute.

Dean stumbles over to the door, “I gotta…” he pauses, unsure of what he was about to do, “… text me all the crossroads, from the closest to here outwards.”

He doesn’t wait on an answer, slamming the door shut behind him before he can think about anything else.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

This time Sam’s eyes don’t leave the road for anything.

He barely blinks - even when the morning sun starts reflecting off everything, turning into laser beams that burn his poor eyes. He keeps his eyes peeled for broken, bloody or burnt angels on the tar, and ignores his grumbling stomach for most of the morning. It’s only when his phone rings that his intense focus is broken. The shrill tone rings and rings till he is forced to at least glimpse the ID to judge how urgently it needs answering - Dean. Damn it. It could be anything from ‘ _Need some help with these bloodsuckers! Anytime would be great-’_ to ‘ _I’m starving over here man, need some pie!’_

Sam hates how predictable yet unpredictable his older brother can be.

He considers pulling over to answer - but he’s just a few minutes away from the next town. Already the buildings are clustering together and the golden grasslands are fading away. The choice is made - though he flinches at the thought - perish the thought, given the _possibility_ of Dean being in trouble. He knows all too well how crucial a couple of minutes can be - but the last thing Dean needs is him dead too.

He’d swerve out of the way of the next Angel on the road and end up causing an accident.

No use in that.

So he drives on, gritting his teeth as Dean calls a second time, and then a third - the urgency of those calls, one after the other, means whatever it is - it’s gotta be bad news. A hundred scenarios flash through his head, each one born from his vivid imagination backed by gory experience. That’s one of the things Sam hates most about the job - having this wealth of knowledge that you can’t forget. It’s nothing like studying for school exams - the information doesn’t leave you at the end of summer or pour out of you as you empty your head in an exam - it’s knowledge about _life_ , about how the world works. There’s no way of forgetting what blood feels like, warm and sticky as it congeals on your skin - the burn of a bullet or cold sting of a blade. He’s seen it. He’s felt it.

Knowledge sometimes makes things worse.

Dean doesn’t ring again. The silence is not a good sign either, and Sam can’t stand it any longer - he spots the blue banner of IHOP and parks as fast as he can. The phone beeps. A text message. He pauses. If Dean had time to type out a text, he must be okay.

Well, he _should_ theoretically be ‘okay’. Okay enough to text - but given Dean’s (frighteningly) impressive pain threshold, he could be an inch from death, eagerly texting Sam his last request for pie.

Sam thinks - at least can console himself with the knowledge that Dean still has thumbs to type with.

But reading the text, he suddenly has his doubts.

_csgon th sob i go gt h_

... well, his thumbs must be broken then, or maybe he's typing with his toes - either way, this is not legible - Sam _fumes_ (in a controlled, head-thumping-on-dashboard manner), bemoaning how his brother lacked the ability to master text-speak in any semblance of articulate communication. He knows that Dean isn’t stupid - he isn’t even that bad at texting - he's just a lazy dumbass with a penchant for not doing it right whenever it tickled his fancy. His head throbs now, and his stomach suddenly adds to it - caving in with sharp, painful hunger.

Sam suspects this text might be a prank, but you never know… so he’ll deal with it after some breakfast.

“I need waffles.”

Perhaps it’s payback for Dean giving him this headache but for once, something griddled with butter and covered in maple syrup is exactly what he needs. He follows his nose into the unfortunately-more-familiar-than-he’d-like-to-be establishment and is immediately bombarded with deafening chatter and sugary memories of childhood. It’s loud for the number of people there. Sam tries to hear if the buzz going through the room is to do with the Angels, but then the sweet, sweet smell of sugar and bacon distracts him and has him staggering over to the counter _demanding_ waffles.

As he waits for breakfast he casually surveys the room and its occupants, making note of the scattering of families in the booths, the teenage couple giggling into their shared milkshake, the obvious regulars taking up seat around the counter - closer to where they get the wait staff’s attention first.

Sam simply chose his spot for its proximity to the mouth-watering smells, though he knows subconsciously he chose it for the vantage point too. He can see everybody from there. Instead, he squints at the intelligible text on his stupid phone and scowls.

 _English please._ he sends back to his brother as he smiles tiredly at the cute waitress pouring him coffee. God, he needs  coffee. He's pretty sure he just got third degree burns all the way down his oesophagus, but the caffeine hits him like a freight train and he feels ten times better already.

“Order up - waffles.”

“Thanks,” he blindly gropes for the plate. Cutting the waffles would take too long - he stabs it, balances the whole thing precariously on his fork and tears into it with his teeth. The explosion of sugar and crisp, fluffy dough is _heaven_. Better than heaven. He savours the bite and takes a long draw of coffee to wash it all down. As he eats, he keeps his ears surreptitiously open to the burr of talk around him and sifts through for a thread of conversation. It’s not easy - everyone seems to be fighting to talk over each other. He has to wonder how they can hear what they're saying through all the noise.

“- sometimes I just _love_ pancakes, but then - _waffles_ , you know-” _pointless talk._

“- Ty made me promise I wouldn’t tell you, but I had to, it wasn’t right-” _okay, someone’s maybe been cheating -_

“- wanna marry you, really. I mean like, as soon as school is over, or even after we’re done here-”

 _Geez_ -

Sam almost chokes on his coffee at the last one - a little heavy stuff to be discussing at the breakfast table, and really? Proposing at IHOP? He can’t help but cringe at the thought of what wedding that teenager was planning, and the big chance of her getting away with it - seeing how smitten her boy was with her. He can’t place  _why_ exactly, but the tone of everyone’s conversations seems very… what's the word,  _passionate? Open?_ From trivial talk about food to cheap marriage proposals, everyone is fully engaged in conversation. There is not one person who’s just sat there eating quietly by themselves, apart from him. Sam slows his chewing as he contemplates this. The more he observes, the more he gets that something _strange_ is happening here. It’s so subtle, practically unnoticeable.

He’s so absorbed in studying the people around him that he doesn’t notice someone pull out a stool to his right. It’s only when a three quarters of his plate is eaten and the sugar starts mixing with the caffeine in his blood to really wake him up that Sam senses there are eyes on him.

 _Don’t be too obvious,_ he tells himself as he feigns leaning back for a stretch for sneaking a look to his right, where - holy heck. Right there - two seats away, spearing his bacon sprinkled with chocolate chips, drowning in maple syrup - how the fuck -

“Whoa, it _is_ you,” he grins, “Last place I’d think I’d find you, Sam-I-am,” he peered at his plate, “And look at you - no green eggs and ham. Are we on a sugar binge, Mr I’d-rather-have-a-salad-please?”

Sam can’t speak - his fork splatters syrup all over his fingers and he almost knocks over his coffee as he scoots two seats right, closer where he can see that he is _real._ Yep. He prods Gabriel in the chest and recoils - not an illusion, he is really _there._ Gabriel raises his hands in surrender, probably spying a _danger-danger-shoot-the-pagan_ spark in Sam’s eyes, but his smirk is nonetheless condescending.

“Who you pointing at, Uncle Sam? Did the sugar fry your noggin or are you falling in love, ‘cause if you _are-”_

“You're  _dead_.”

Gabriel’s smirk only widens.

“You _died,”_ Sam whispers, “I saw you - he… he…” his mind goes back to the night at the Elysian Fields. They hadn't been there to witness the supposed grand finale to Gabriel’s existence, too busy flying the coop with the goddess of destruction to stick around. But Sam shakes his head - there was no way Gabriel made it out of there alive. Lucifer _killed_ him. He wouldn’t have let someone as high-power as Gabriel escape - so _how?_ “But what about - what about the _porno?”_

“Gee Sam, I don’t think China heard you,” Gabriel sniggers, shovelling another mouthful in. Sam whips his head around and flushes when he sees a mother covering her boy’s ears and shooting him a dirty look. Gabriel hums thoughtfully, “That porno was one of my best works. Did you like the décor? I think the curtains were a little bit -”

“How are you _here_? Wait, come with me,” Sam tucks a couple bills under his plate and drags Gabriel out by the collar.

They round the corner where a couple bins give them some cover - good thing too, because as soon as they are behind them Sam proudly whips out his Nerf Super Soaker and squirts a stream of salt-holy water in Gabriel’s face. The Archangel sputters and groans, but Sam wastes no time - using the distraction to grab one of his flapping hands and nick him with his silver dagger.

“Hell that _stings_!” Gabriel squawks, scrubbing at his eyes, “Nice aim, genius - you’ve blinded me too! Gah - what’s with the attack? We’re on the same team, pal - hey, _hey,_ let go -”

When Sam turns Gabriel’s hand over he finds it not burning, and the only visible effect the salt water had on him was burning his eyes, he realises he isn’t a Hell monster, as far as these tests confirm - and that the cut on his hand doesn’t instantly heal and causes him _pain._ He - an Archangel - shouldn’t be making such a fuss out of such a little cut, a little  _salt water_ in his eyes, for crying out loud.

Especially not after being stabbed in the _heart_.

Which means -

“You're… you're not-”

“Excellent deduction, El Sammo - I’ve lost my mojo. I am 'one' with the meat-suit,” he hooks his thumbs in his lapels and shrugs, somewhat bashfully, “Alright, go on - out with the questions. You’ll give yourself a conniption if you don’t.”

“There are… too many,” Sam admits, all the questions in his mind coming to a juddering halt, he doesn’t know where to _begin_. “You died.” He’s pretty stuck on that one.

Gabriel sighs, “Yup. Kinda did.”

“So…”

“So… what? So have the three of you! You asking me _how?_ Cos I think you know that already-”

“No I don't - how are you _alive?”_

“Ah, well... I dunno,” his right hand goes to his chest and rubs there tenderly, like he’s remembering that pain - not just the stabbing, but the pain of betrayal. The worst kind - the part of Gabriel that had hung onto the belief that they were _brothers_ \- that the love they shared would save him - was proven wrong. It had to feel like his world falling apart - Sam stopped at that point, stopped imagining. He couldn’t walk any further in his shoes or he'd be lost.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Gabriel sighs, “When I woke up - I was just like… this dashing, _strapping_ lad you see before you - but completely, annoyingly  _human._  When I tried to remember, it took some bourbon and a good long walk to figure out I’d been out for some time. I felt all swollen - bloated. Kinda hollow too. Dunno how to explain it, but I just knew I was less than I was before - didn't figure out I was an Angel before till I went back to the room where I woke and I found these… these great big wing marks, scorched into the floor. And then it hit me."

“So… what you're saying is that - you lost your wings? Like these guys who’ve Fallen?”

“Worse - there’s no mojo left in this vessel at all - this  is _it._ This is all of me - human, not an ounce of Angel left in me.”

“But that’s not what Raguel said!”

Gabriel’s eyes narrow, “How do you know Raguel?”

“I, uh… I just, uh, I met him on the road,” (no need to tell him about _almost_ running him over) “He said you guys have Grace, even if you Fell - you still have to have  _some_.”

“Yeah, well maybe that’s only for the Angels who _Fell,_ nimrod - I _died._ There is a difference. I was stabbed by an Archangel blade - that has the power to take my Grace, my life - my entire _existence._ The only thing left of me was my vessel, and that was with a _great big gaping hole in its chest!”_

Sam blinks, and then he nods glumly, “Sorry, I… it’s just he told me that that’s how the Angels are still in contact with each other - they still have Angel Radio.”

“Well _good for them_ ,” Gabriel sneers and crosses his arms, hunching his shoulders a little like he’s conserving his warmth, “What else did Raggy tell you?”

“Well, also…” there’s no way to get around telling him about Raziel - so he blurts it all out, eyes darting between Gabriel’s stony expression and the pavement. Then he hesitantly decides to go for broke and goes back to the start - back from him surviving the Trials and watching Angels Falling out of the sky. In hindsight, he might have considered not spilling all the secrets to someone who had once been one of their trickiest enemies, but much to his surprise Gabriel lets out a relieved sigh at the end and closes his eyes, looking oddly satisfied by the news.

He nods, “Then she has Risen.”

“That's what Cas said,” Sam agrees and sighs, “At least… that’s good I guess.”

Gabriel opens his eyes, “Good? After what you heard from Raguel, you think it’s _good_ that thousands of Angels are gonna be firing it up to the sky? That they’ll smite the planet and raze it to the ground when they find themselves stuck here? Have you lost your _mind-”_

“You looked happy about it!” It’s the only explanation Sam’s got, and it makes Gabriel laugh.

“I’m not _happy_. They might be able to get their wings back that way, but me? I'm stuck. Till this whole mess is cleaned up, I'm _stuck_ this way.”

“But…” then Sam recalls Raguel’s words: **_most_** _of us know how to find our own way - you saw that with Raziel._ “…don’t you know your way back?”

Gabe snorts, “Oh, I know my _way back._ How can I not?” his eyes narrow, "He shouldn't have told you about that."

Sam ignores him, “You know how to get back, but… you can’t?”

“Ding, ding, ding!” he mocks, kicking a crumpled newspaper under the skip. “Until Heaven is back, up and running, I don’t even get a _chance,”_ he scrubs his nose irritably, “Poor old Raggy can’t either.”

“And why is that?”

Gabriel doesn’t answer. He goes deliberately quiet, though his eyes flick up at Sam in answer -

“You can’t tell me. Great,” just like Raguel, Gabriel wasn’t going to let slip anything he didn’t think Sam should know. “That’s just great - we’re trying to _help_ you guys, can’t you see that? For fuck’s sake.”

“I get it Sammy - really, I do. It’s what the Winchesters do - patch the world up when things start falling apart. But how many times are you gonna have to do that? The Apocalypse - that thing with the Leviathans - and now? Now you're trying to stop this latest screw-up too. On the one hand, you could say that maybe it’s a sign - third times the charm, but on the other, maybe _this_  time you're not meant to win. It just keeps getting worse and worse. Maybe the world _wants_ to give up - have you ever thought of that? Nothing lasts forever, and... I mean - what’s in it for you in the end? Nothing. You always lose, even if you win. Haven’t you learnt this by now?”

Each point was utterly true, so much that it really hammered home and clawed up bad memories in his heart. It was true that in past he and Dean often lost each other in the course of setting the world right, or they died themselves, or they lost other loved ones - what did they ever gain from any of it? They were the unsung heroes of the world - the mighty fallen, the broken soldiers. No one knew what they did, no one could understand it - how much they wanted to give up at times, but that they _couldn’t._ Even after it all - they were shackled to the task of protecting the world by their own guilt, and their punishing sense of responsibility.

So many times in his life Sam had faced this grim, glaring truth - that justice was in his bones and blood, that he lived and breathed to save people, he killed monsters, he gave up everything for everyone - and it wasn’t worth it, but it was what he did because it’s what _they_ did, and there was no other explanation for it other than that.

His lips were pressed tightly, he could tell Gabriel knew what was going through his head, even without whatever mind-reading abilities he might have had as an Angel - the determination was so clear in Sam’s expression, that no one could miss it.

“Fine,” Gabriel says quietly, “Listen very carefully, I shall say zis only once - us Angels are _bound_ by law to not speak of these secrets to anyone - not even each other. It’s strictly hush-hush. But in regards to your pig-headed desire to stick your nose into everything and fuck the rules - I can give you _some_ clues, some nudges in the right direction _,_ so to speak,” his eyes flashed, for a second Sam thought - with Grace - “But nothing more. You will not _push_ for anything I do not tell you, understand? You’re playing with fire beyond your ken, Samuel. I need your word.”

“Okay,” Gabriel glares - “I promise.”

“Good. Then - first things first - riddle me this: I've already told you that after I died, I came back. How do you think that happened?”

“Wh- What? What do you mean ‘riddle me this’? That wasn’t a riddle! How the fuck should I know?”

“What other examples of Angelic revivals have you seen in your time, Samuel?”

The answer is obvious: Cas - at Stull Cemetery, and time and time again after that, without explanation he would reappear to them after perishing from whatever cause. What explanation could there be for that? The only one Sam could think of was the one Cas assumed to be true: that _God_ brought him back.

“Good ol’ Dad, I'm guessing,” Gabriel says, as if plucking it from his mind, “Has a soft spot for Cas. With me - well, there's no other way it could have happened.”

What’s that supposed to mean? Ever the cryptic… Sam opens his mouth - but Gabriel speaks.

“Now, humour me when I send you on this uncanny quest - don’t ask me what it’s _for,_ just do as I say. All I want you to do is sit back and watch things unfold, got it?” Sam nods warily, Gabriel grins - “Call up your girl Missouri and tell her you’re coming around. Take Dean with you.”

It’s so out of the blue that Sam honestly doesn’t know what to think. Gabriel frowns, his fingers held up in a familiar way.

“And… that’s where I’d be zapping away to get tequila on a hammock somewhere in Bora Bora,” he pouts, “ _A_ _wkward_. Anyway, you're pocket’s been buzzing on and off. Something tells me you wanna get that,” he shrugs.

It’s Dean - he can’t get a word in. As soon as he hits the green button, a voice almost unrecognisable as Dean’s come screeching through - oh, it isn’t Dean. It’s Kevin, or Charlie… someone who can reach a vocal register neither of the Winchesters can since they hit puberty.

He only has to hear five seconds of it for his blood to run cold and then he’s hanging up and clenching his fists, almost breaking the phone. He’s going to have to tell Gabriel somehow, whose tense posture and laser beam eyes are burning through his skull, demanding answers. The last time he saw Gabriel and Cas interact, he didn’t think they were close - but he could be wrong. They were still brothers.

“Oh man,” he mumbles, shrinking under Gabriel’s stare, “We gotta go back now, ASAP.”

“Bad news, I'm guessing. When is it not?” and then he looks vaguely amused, “Back _where?_ Do you actually have a _home_ now?”

Sam hesitates, but decides to bite the bullet.

“Cas has run away.”

Gabriel’s glare turns incredulous, and then back to the terrifying stony expression - it gives Sam the shivers.

“I know,” he mutters, “They were meant to keep watch on him, but he slipped out while they were sleeping. Kevin - or whoever that was - says it can’t have been more than seven or six hours ago, and he’s obviously slow going - but he knows how to use transport. He’s determined enough to find his way to wherever he’s going. Do you have any idea where that might be?”

If Cas was on a search for his own ‘ _way’_ like the other Fallen, and he was wandering aimlessly - he bet Dean would be able to hunt him down pretty fast. But if he was on a mission to find a crossroads demon like whoever-that-was suggested… he would have chosen to venture further away, knowing he’d need to buy time before they found him, because they would try to stop him.

“From what you’ve told me… I have no idea,” Gabriel shakes his head, “At one time I could’ve guessed what was running through that kid’s mind, but since we grew apart - it’s impossible to say. His decisions have been pretty wild ever since you guys taught him about ‘free will’.”

“Then you're coming with me,” Sam announces, snatching Gabe by the wrist, “You’ll help us find him.”

Gabriel struggles with surprising strength, but he eventually falls into step - glowering at Sam all the while. “Hey, _hey -_ you could _ask,_ you know. Crowley was totally right, you Neanderthal beast- _”_

Sam blinks, “You know Crowley?”

“Sure I know Crowley. Everyone knows Crowley.”

“Huh,” from Gabriel’s tone - neither here nor there - it didn’t seem that Gabriel thought badly of Crowley, or at least, he didn’t think much of him. “Crowley’s one of us now. He was Cured.”

Gabriel’s eyebrows fly up, so far they almost leap off his face - what, did Sam forget to tell him about that? The Archangel looks so dumbfounded by what he just said, and then - he snorts.

“If you _say_ so.”

Sam manages to hold back another _What does that mean?_  Gabriel has Sam thinking now - what was he suggesting? That Crowley _wasn’t_ on their side? He tries to convince him:

“I didn’t finish the Trials, but he Fell _up_ \- he’s just as powerless as the Fallen Angels.”

“I’m not saying anything, Sammo. It's not an Angel thing, it’s a Crowley thing - something else entirely. All I’ll say is this - not finishing the Trials? That’s instant re-set button. Everything is back to the First Trial. You'd have to hunt down another Hellhound and take another black blood bath again if you wanna shut the Gates that way. Was that your plan?” Sam shakes his head, “Clever boy,” he has a strange sad look in his eyes, oddly grateful, “That’s the thing - sacrifice doesn’t always mean death… okay, kiddo. Lesson over. Time to go.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Bizarrely enough, the thing Cas wants most right now is his trench coat.

It’s an illogical desire because the fabric was cheap and performed badly against the elements, so it was technically useless for its purpose - but this did not matter to him. Even though he was now more sensitive to the cold and rain, it wasn’t shelter he sought from the coat, but comfort. Plain comfort - the same sense of safety children gained from their toys, the security of the familiar, he supposed. Perhaps it was nothing more than that, but Cas felt particularly unsettled in his out-of-character attire. A comfortable pair of worn jeans and Sam’s hoodie over a shirt - he was swimming in soft fabric that smelt of the Winchesters’ classic salt and smoke.

In a way, it's also comforting, but not the same.

He’s tired after walking all through the early morning hours, with the sun now high in the sky - he doesn’t know how far he’s walked, but he doesn’t think it’s enough. By now they’ll be awake and searching for him. Cas scratches off a bit of dirt stuck to his knee and stands. He picks a random direction and starts walking.

None of the scenery is familiar. It’s terrifying, being lost, but also  _liberating_. He doesn’t want to be stuck in the Bunker, waiting for it all to be over - leaving it to the others to fix the mess _he_ made. That’s not how he is - it’s not what he _does._ Cas leaps over a long puddle and cushions his landing in a half-crouch. The impact is still jarring, but practice will make him better at trusting his body. He ignores the creak of his joints and walks on.

Cas doesn’t flinch when a car goes by. Simply from listening, he knows it’s not the Impala. That’s how well he knows her. He thinks Dean would be proud.

No. Not proud. _Smug._

He can picture that expression on Dean’s face quite well, even though it’s only rarely used in jest - lips quirked in a lopsided smirk, arms folded and back straight, eyes dancing brightly -

Cas trips.

There aren’t any paved stones to trip on - then again, the jeans are quite long on him. He stands in place, rooted like a tree, and waits. Waits for everything to settle, for his legs to steady.

His hand absently wanders to his throat -

But then he hears her - a vibration that shivers through his toes to his belly and tickles down his spine - and obscenely, he feels like he’s been caught red-handed.

Dean leaves the engine running - barely stops the car before slamming his way out, brimming with too many raging emotions to count, and he almost pounces on Cas in his anger - but he stops short. Something holds him back - Cas isn’t sure what that is, until he realises how close Dean came to punching him for real. His hand is still a clenched fist, and though he is shaking somewhat from his barely restrained temper, he is also blank-faced in disbelief.

“We talked about this Cas,” he pants, hand and fist waving around, “You don’t have a clue what I'm talking about, do you?”

Cas shakes his head slowly. Dean groans.

“You suck. You really suck, you know that? Where. Are. Your. Survival. Instincts?” he grabs Cas’ wrist and yanks it up in front of his face, “You didn’t flinch. You didn’t even try to protect yourself - _duck_ when I try to punch you, dumb _ass._ Parry the blow. I was gonna punch you - if I hadn't stopped I would've broken your face. Don’t you understand that you can’t take that kind of beating anymore?”

Cas tries to tug his arm free but Dean’s grip tightens - he’s trying to show how strong his hold is, how weak Cas is in comparison. It’s something Cas recognises and is repulsed by immediately - that Dean believes he is so weak now is utterly patronising _._ He yanks his arm out easily enough and shoves Dean back.

“Where the hell did you go, man? I’ve been looking for you all morning! You can’t just disappear like that anymore.”

“Not without a head-start,” Cas mumbles derisively under his breath, but Dean heard him.

He’s not pleased.

“I'm not kidding, Cas - there are things out there that want you dead. Worse than dead. They want - they want you -”

“-to be punished. I am aware of this. I didn’t lose my brain as well as my Grace, _Dean_ ,” he tucks his hands in Sam’s hoodie pouch and rocks on his feet, “Have you come to take me back then?”

“Yeah. Get in.”

They get in the Impala but don’t drive off immediately. Dean frowns and squints thoughtfully for a few moments before nodding decisively and pulling away from the kerb. There's a certain comfort gained from being back in the beloved car, Cas admits, drinking in the faint scent of the leather seats almost washed away by the layers of dirt and rain worked into them over the years. He can finally relax, and with his eyes closed he sinks down in his seat, knees drawing up to his chin, shins on the dash.

There was a certain comfort he found from knowing - _knowing_ Dean would find him and come to bring him back home. No matter how lost he might get, the fact Dean had no idea what he’d been up to and _still_ managed to find him was deeply gratifying. He knew he shouldn’t rely on the assumption that this would always be the case. Dean was lucky this time. He was completely right in pointing out the dangers posed to him, and Cas knew his hypothetical ‘next escape’ would prove to be trickier.

For once, Cas empathised with Sam and how frustrated he got with Dean’s annoyingly overprotective streak. It made things much more difficult.

“So tell me,” Dean says conversationally - suddenly Cas realises he hasn’t put the music on. He wants to _talk._ He tenses -“Where were you off to? Had a hot date with someone? Did you get your kiss?”

The choice of words is very strange and particular, but the last question clears up what Dean’s really asking about. Cas’ eyes fly open wide.

“What… exactly are you suggesting?” he cannot bring himself to accept Dean would think so low of him as to… as to doing _that._

“You tell me.”

Cas' eyes narrow to deadly slits.

“If you are suggesting some kind of deal, you are wrong-”

“Oh, _am I?”_ Dean breaks the car almost violently, “You go off in the middle of the night, nothing on you - no one to stop you, so you tell no one where you're going. Tell me that doesn’t sound suspicious.”

“I would _never_.” He’s very aware of his past - his infamous dealings with Crowley don’t exactly support his claim, but Dean _has_ to know he wouldn’t fall for something so monumentally stupid _again._

“Oh yeah? So what were you doing _-”_

“- what on Earth would make you think I would?” Cas blurts, unspeakably hurt by Dean’s assumptions - and, presumably, the assumptions of everyone else too. Bringing up demon deals - suggesting he, a recently Fallen Angel - disgraced though he may be - would do such a thing… Cas feels ashamed Dean would think such a thing possible. But then he looks at Dean and _understands_. He sees Dean’s eyes flicker at him and it hits him - Dean is embarrassed. Probably for overreacting, most likely for making a wrong assumption - but it has to be something more than simply assuming the worst of Cas’ actions. He must have assumed… the worst of Cas’ motives.

“You thought that I was-”

“-yeah, okay - I got it wrong, alright? Sorry,” Dean snaps, irritable now. Cas bristles, wondering what Dean thought would drive Cas so far. He is understandably upset about events, but nothing would convince him to betray them again in a repeat of his previous mistake. He wasn’t _stupid._

He was… he was -

“I just was trying… to think like you - which is _hard_ , by the way. I was trying to figure out your next steps, given our shitty situation and given your… you know. Your lack of… mojo,” Dean scratches his nose - sheepish, “I thought you would be desperate. But knowing you, you’d be thinking what you have to _give._ We’re pretty fucking awful examples of humans, you know Cas, but I assumed you were out trying to do what Winchesters do when there's nothing _else_ we can do.”

Cas’ voice hitches, “A crossroads deal.”

Dean nods stiffly, “We ain’t got much, but when we hit bottom, at least we’ve got our souls-”

“Dean - I’d never, _never_ do such a thing. You have no idea how precious souls _are_.”

“Yeah, I do, actually. That’s exactly why I thought you’d be doing that. You always go all in. That's just you,” a fond smile teases the corner of his mouth for a split second, but then his face becomes stern, “That’s not a good thing, Cas. You… you can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“It’s never worth it.”

“But you’ve done that.”

“That was different - this? This _wasn’t_ your fault. It’s too goddamn big for it to be all on you. This wasn’t on you, Cas. Believe me, if it was…”

Cas waits. “…if it was?”

“If it was, I’d let you know,” Dean answers, turning a sharp corner. Lost, he may be, but he was sure he didn’t come this way. There were more trees along his route - “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon - _yes._ Pancake house. Out we get.”

Even though it’s a pancake house, they both predictably order burgers and fries and tall glasses of iced tea.

The smells of food make Cas’ mouth fill with saliva and his hunger roil like a goaded snake in his belly. He places his hand on his stomach to feel it judder like a purring engine, though the analogy doesn’t fit - his body, his machinery doesn’t function well without food. It’s fuel to the body, he knows, and yet he wants more of it than he needs. There's this irrational urge to stuff his stomach with as much food as it can take and then some. The only thing that quells this desire is thinking back to the Burger Binge followed by the Bacon Binge.

These two incidents remind Cas that he perhaps needs to take heed of the meaning of ‘too much of a good thing’.

He finds the portion of food adequate, and only due to Dean’s hounding accepts an order of pie to finish it off with ‘something sweet’.

He wants another burger but doesn’t say so.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Dean halts Cas’ attempt at getting pie in his mouth by catching his elbow, “Pie _after_ you tell me what the frig you were up to. It’s spiced cherry so hop to - I don’t wanna eat it cold.”

Cas considers pointing out that he doesn’t really want the pie (more burgers, please), but accedes that Dean does deserve an answer.

He slips his arm free from Dean and reaches up to his throat, where he pulls out a thin leather cord.

On the end of which, there is the amulet.

The humour drains out of Dean leaving him frighteningly still. Cas doesn’t even understand his sudden fear - only the instinct telling him that he has made another mistake, this time likely to be a social miscomprehension. The amulet dangles, twisting on the end of the cord and barely reflecting anything off its dull, scratched surface. Dean carefully holds out his hand for Cas to drop it in, which he does.

For a little while, Dean continues to stare at the amulet. Cas cannot tell what he is thinking, and for some reason he doesn’t think he’d understand anyway. He picks up on the fact that Dean needs time, for whatever reason, and recalls the last time he'd handed Dean the amulet. He’d claimed it useless back then.

From the way Dean turns his stare onto him, he knows Dean is remembering this too.

Dean’s mouth turns into an ugly sneer.

“So you're looking for God,” he drawls, tossing it back at Cas, “Again.”

“I am,” Cas admits, pulling it back over his neck. It once belonged to Dean, what was meant for John and was provided to Sam by Bobby. It occurs to him what he is wearing connected each one of these men in some way, and somehow that feels significant.

“You said it didn’t work, that it was _worthless_.”

“I did, but since you apparently discarded it off this comment-”

“How do you know about that?”

“I found it in this,” he tugs at Sam’s hoodie pouch. Dean slaps his forehead.

“I would never steal his dumb college hoodie - of course…” he groans, shaking his head. It seems to clear his head, because when he looks up at Cas again he looks a tiny bit calmer, but also weary - _tired_ , “You said it didn’t work,” he accuses again.

“I said that as an Angel, but as a human I thought… well, at first I wondered what the chances were that I would discover it again. It must be a sign,” Cas straightens in his seat, lifting his chin and daring Dean to mock him for what he is about to say, “That when I was lost, God would _find_ me.”

Dean doesn’t laugh, he just looks rather tired and bored by it, which annoys Cas more than mocking laughter would have.

“Sure. You got your faith back,” he shrugs disinterestedly, “Good for you.”

“Dean-”

“But did you think - did you even stop to think what a stupid move it was, going out there on your own? Because that, _that_ is what pisses me off, man. If you wanna go - we can’t stop you - _especially_ if you go off in the middle of the night. You could have left a note to tell us where you were. Jesus, we thought the worst. Abaddon is out there too, Cas, and she’s _real_  dangerous.”

Cas gives him an unimpressed scowl.

“I'm serious. We chopped her up, you know. She survived _decapitation_.”

“Dean, I knew the risks,” he says regretfully, “And yet I'm not looking for trouble. I only went to do what I had to do, seeing as only I have the faith to find God. None of you have even considered the chance that He might help us.”

“What makes you think He will?”

“Raziel has Risen. If He didn’t want us to Rise - if this truly was our punishment - she would never have been able to. You and Sam are investigating the Angels first-hand which is - as you pointed out - something I am unable to do without the risk of being attacked. Kevin is working on the Tablet, Crowley is supervising the Demon activity and Charlie is keeping us all under the radar. Everyone has their own task. What else can I do, Dean? How else can I fix this? Where do I even _begin_? I know there’s little chance that He _would_ help us out, but I have to try.” _It’s all that I can do,_ he thinks, but the words don't need to be said. Dean gets it.

Dean shakes his head, laughing in a way that means there’s absolutely nothing funny, “After everything that’s happened, you still have faith,” he says and leads them back to the car. He turns to Cas and says very firmly, “Faith or not - _God_ or not - you aren’t leaving the Bunker again till you've got your own Dark Mark and you can shoot a guy in the face at twenty yards on the move.”

“…can _you_ do that?”

“Yep.”

“I’ve never seen you do that, Dean-”

“- just because you haven’t seen me do it doesn’t mean I - oi, oi Cas - are you okay buddy? You're looking a bit pale-” but Cas is going down like a sack of potatoes - he slumps against the car door with his eyes trained on Dean and a tiny smirk at the corner of his mouth. “Don’t freak me out like that, man. Anyway -  _m_ _ost_ of the time, yes, I'm a good shot. Not the point though - you’ve gotta be able to defend yourself, and then you can go look for the Big Guy all you want. Does… does that sound okay?”

Cas nods, “That sounds reasonable,” the answering smile is satisfying to Cas, and the compromise seems fair.

As the seconds tick by, Dean’s smile becomes more strained. Cas is starting to recognise when a bad conversation topic is pending and his bid for avoidance comes with a well-timed yawn that cracks his jaw. The smile vanishes from Dean’s face. His eyes flit to Cas and back to the road, a tiny crease in the middle of his forehead. Cas drums his fingers on the car door and waits impatiently.

“You know…” Dean’s hands tighten on the steering wheel. He is struggling to keep his eyes on the road. Cas stills his hand, paying an unnecessary amount of attention to the silence, practically hearing Dean piece his thoughts together in words. “…I kinda thought… we had a plan. Already. I mean…” he shrugs, “We _don’t_ really have a plan to fix all this, but we figured out something last night.”

“You're referring to Sefer Raziel HaMalakh,” Cas recalls slowly, though instead of the research, he can't help but think about _after_. Guiding a drowsy, stumbling, almost child-like Dean to his bed, tucking him in for sleep -

“Yeah, Cas,” Dean grins, “ _That_ \- that’s a good plan. You said it was like… an Angel spell book. So it could have stuff in there that could help us, I mean - Kevin’s trying damn hard, but he’s really stuck. The least we could do is look for other information.”

“That is true,” he agrees reluctantly.

Dean seems to sense his lack of enthusiasm, “But?” Cas shakes his head - “ _But?”_

“Dean… you read about it - after Raziel gave the Sefer to Adam, other Angels stole it and cast it into the ocean and it was lost.”

“ _Yeah,_ but Wiki said that God got it back and gave it to Adam again.”

“There are always going to be variations on any story - the version you read on ‘Wiki’ comes from what source exactly? Sam told me not to trust ‘Wiki’ for its lack of verified sources-”

“Alright, alright - so what’s the true story then? Is the Sefer still lost?” Dean is getting frustrated again, the car speeds just a little.

“I believe so,” Cas admits apologetically. Dean puffs and slaps the wheel, but the speed plateaus. He’s resigned. “From what I heard - from the little I know about it - God bade the Angel Rahab to retrieve the Sefer from the sea and _he_ was told to deliver it to Adam.”

“But… I'm guessing he didn’t,” Dean drawls, “So why didn’t he?”

There must be something in his expression that conveys his discomfort at broaching the subject, because Dean is suddenly pulling over and stopping as the conversation takes a dive for the worst, and then his hand comes to rest on Cas’ shoulder - a rare and unexpected point of comfort. His touch is warm and steady. Cas wonders why his family always has to bear such bad news.

“We continually refer to Rahab as an ‘Angel’ in an effort to ally him to the side of Heaven, but technically speaking, he is not an Angel at all. Born at the time of Creation, he is the predecessor to the Leviathan - _Sar Shel Yam_ , _Prince of the Primordial Sea, Lord of the Ocean Deep_ ,” Cas’ eyes close as he slips into lecture-mode, the words pouring out of him are outlandish and wistful like some dreamed-up fairytale, “He is neither Angel nor Demon, and his allegiance is to neither - he answers only to God, and even then, he prefers to answer to himself. Few creatures equal him in power.”

“And you're saying this guy still has the Sefer?”

Cas blinks open slowly, his mind drifting, “It’s not been confirmed, but the Sefer’s return has yet to be proven… I would assume he still has it, if only for safe-keeping. The thing is, Rahab isn’t _evil_ \- he is completely unaffiliated with any side - an ancient power who bears no responsibility for his actions. But his boredom has resulted in disasters such as floods and tsunamis. His tendency is to violence - he tried to drown the Hebrews when they were escaping the Red Sea and is believed to have brought upon the Great Flood itself.”

“Fuck almighty,” Dean sucks in a breath, “Where was God in all of this?”

“He delivered His punishment,” at Dean’s insistent stare, Cas sighs, “Rahab has been sentenced to death. Multiple times.”

“And he’s still around? How is that even possible?”

“For creatures as old as he, there is no proper way for him to die. He just _lingers_  underneath. That is why I advise you not to seek the Sefer. If it is with him - which it likely is - there is no way to retrieve it without provoking potential disaster.”

“I don’t get it, why does God make creatures like that? What’s the point in it if all they do is destroy?”

“He wasn’t made to _destroy_ , he was made to aide God in the separation of the upper and lower waters of the Cosmos. It was his task to make room for the Earth to be Created. Rahab was supposed to swallow the world’s water, but he was rebellious from birth - and when he refused to carry out his task, God destroyed him for the first time and buried him beneath the sea.”

“Before - last night - you said there were translations of the text around anyway…”

“Translations - dilutions - interpretations,” Cas smiles wanly, “They're not going to be accurate, more likely they will be exaggerated to glamorise true events. All of them fiction, rather than fact-”

“Okay, _okay_ ,” Dean is not scowling anymore. His face is remarkably blank, cold in a frighteningly un-Dean-ish way. He’s thinking - furiously, by the way he is holding his breath. “So that plan’s sunk. Literally - it’s at the bottom of the freaking ocean. Goddamn it,” they start driving again, at the same terrifyingly speedy way as before, “Back to square one. We better head home then. Get you all inked up etcetera and then probably track down Sam to help with the Fallen-”

“Please don’t call us that.”

Dean blinks, “What? The Fallen?” he grins, “You sound like a bunch of Transformer robots. It’s pretty cool, if you think about it-”

“Dean,” - Dean stops, startled by the way Cas gasps - “I… I need the restroom.”

Dean swerves into the next gas station and yanks Cas out, dragging him to the grungy bathroom as fast as he can - Kevin’s warning blaring through his head _God help him if he can’t find a toilet in time -_ makes Dean absurdly panicked. The stall is where he draws the line though - and then he reconsiders, thinking it might be even a little too weird for him to be close enough listen to his best friend peeing - so he goes outside to wait.

Surprisingly enough, Cas is prompt with his business and comes out soon enough.

But he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and his face is pale and forehead sweaty, and he looks distinctly embarrassed in such a way that tells Dean exactly what really happened.

He’s used to the rancid smells of body fluids, so he doesn’t flinch at the smell of vomit on Cas - only shows concern in the way he grabs his shoulders in support and holds him there for it to subside.

“Car sick?” he eventually quips light-heartedly. Cas groans softly, shaking his head. “You sick, man?”

“No… head hurts,” and Cas sends him a narrow-eyed glare, demanding he do something about it.

“You're just…” Dean freezes up, knowing full well  there is a half packet of Tylenol and other more powerful pain relief drugs stashed in the glove-box. He regards that option warily. Without meaning to, his mind flies back to his flash-forward in ’09 to this year, back when Zach had tried once again to turn him over to his side via freaking him out with Croatoan dystopia. That drugged up, _sexed_ up, bitter Cas had also hit home. It was crazy to think that a couple of pills might be the gateway to _that_ ending, and yet Dean hesitates, wondering whether curing a headache is worth the risk.

He goes in the shop and comes out with a big bottle of water, thrusting it in Cas’ hands.

“You're thirsty. Rinse your mouth and drink up,” he grumbles, herding them back in the car. He sees Cas chugging the water at the corner of his eye, desperately believing in its pain-relieving powers, and feels slightly guilty for once again tricking him - for his own good, he might argue, but once again… treating him like a child. But maybe there was some good in blind faith because Cas eventually settled and dozed off. He was a calm, drooling sleeper.

But Dean had to wonder - what an effect a headache had had on Cas, enough to practically drug him to sleep - enough for him to admit there even was a pain, when Dean had seen him stabbed multiple times and withstand far greater pain than that over the years. That something as minor as this had such an effect was, to say the least, worrying.


	5. If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain and bitter; for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.

 

“No. Wrong. Once more.”

“I’ve done it a hundred freaking times already. Gimme a break-”

“What was that?”

He rolls his eyes, “Nothing sir.”

Charlie pinches his cheek, “For that, you’ll oil that gun nice and proper.”

Kevin drops his salute, “Oh _come on,_ that’s enough already!” he snaps, whirling around, his face red and sweaty and _gun in hand_ , “I can’t feel my freaking arm, thanks to you-”

“WHOA THERE. MUZZLE _DOWN,_ boy!” she barks, motioning wildly at him to lower his gun (he'd unthinkingly waved around as he turned) - “ _Watch it,_ holy geez - put it down. _Gently!_ Like a baby! That means _don’t_ drop it - fudge, fudge, fudge - careful,  _there_ we go-”

“Am I interrupting something ?” Crowley appears out of nowhere, causing both of them to let out harmonising shrieks and clutch their chests. His satisfied smirk shows this reaction is exactly what he was aiming for, though he belatedly schools it into something a little more decent (and a lot less sincere). “Should I leave you two… _alone_?”

Charlie’s nose scrunches up - their position _might_ appear 'compromising, with her arms wrapped around Kevin... hands guiding his hands, but... she catches sight of Kevin’s blushing face and freaks out. Freaking adorable he is - but he’s still got a _dick_ \- and she can’t help but think _‘jailbait’_ when she considers his hairless, baby-smooth cheeks and wide, never-done-the-dirty eyes - “ _No_ siree. That _definitely_ won’t be necessary.”

“Hey-!”

“Tea? _Again?_ ” she rolls her eyes as Crowley pours out two cups. The buttered crumpets placed at her laptop interest her though.

“Still sore?” Crowley asks Kevin, eyeing his bandaged wrist, his own hand drifting over his right flank. The ink-work was surprisingly neat when he examined it in the mirror, but whenever he twisted his torso it tugged at the irritated skin and fiery pain spread all around it. When he sat, the bandage got itchy. There’s no easy way around dealing with the bitchy pain that is tattoo-aftercare.

Kevin shrugs, “Little bit.”

The ex-demon nods. He squints at the targets and tuts in disapproval. “You're not even _tickling_ them.”

It’s true - none of Kevin’s shots made a hit, none even skimmed them. He grits his teeth. It’s so embarrassing - Crowley is a good shot already. He can practically do it blindfolded (or so he claims, Charlie won’t let him try - not with them in the same room, so if they can’t see what’s the point?), and even Charlie is surprisingly good (her shots are those you’d wish you’d die from... especially if you are of the male persuasion).

“Well, I’ve only just started today!” he exclaims, glaring at his gun like it personally wronged him. It’s nothing like a Nerf gun. It’s heavy in his hand, its discharge bounces through his arm vibrating through his throbbing wrist, the noise is sharp and gut-punches his breath right out of him at such close proximity. It’s _barrels_ of fun, but he’s getting nowhere with actually killing his targets.

“Want me to show yo-”

“ _No!”_ he bellows childishly, darting out of Crowley’s reach. The ex-demon holds up his hands. “I _know_ what to do.”

“Touchy, touchy... aim - shoot, it’s not rocket science.”

Sensing a squabble about to break out, Charlie raises herself so her narrowed eyes are visible over the laptop screen and frowns at them both, “Easy there varmint,” she hisses at Crowley, and then turns on Kevin, “Kid, did you not hear me? Oil that gun.”

“It’s already oiled!”

“For _practise_ sake, pretend you're doing it. Don’t give me that look. Maintenance is important. It’s either that or you lick my boot clean. Remember who’s in charge here.”

Crowley takes this as his cue to leave, but just as he starts heading to the door - it opens and Dean strides in, Castiel in tow -

Charlie jumps up with a squeal, “Cas - you're _alive_!”

He looks down at himself, as though to check, “…I am.”

Dean grins at them all, even reaching out to ruffle Kevin’s spiky hair, “Found him a coupl’a hours ago dragging his feet in the mud. He’s alright though.”

They let out collective sighs and take a moment to cherish Cas’ good luck - but then they flip the switch, pinning him with a variety of vexed, hurt and angry glares. Under the three’s accusatory eyes, Cas feels every bit the vulnerable human being he now is, with nothing but his skin to protect him, and the unanticipated weight of shame and gratitude making it impossible for him to meet their eyes.

Kevin steps forwards, tempering the tense silence with concern, “What were you doing out there?” he looks at Dean sharply, questioningly, “Did he…?”

Dean shakes his head sharply, “No, it wasn’t that. I’ll… I’ll let him tell you what he was up to himself, if he wants,” he raises his eyebrows at Cas, who shrugs to show his indifference.

“Looking for God… to help us,” he says, the brief pause telling them in to his lack of success.

His answer piques the interest of Charlie in particular, who has (unfortunately) read the Winchester Gospels and knows all about how his last hunt for God turned out. Her eyes go soft and speculative, but she quickly covers it up before Cas notices, turning her attention to Dean who is also staring at Cas but in a different way. She has read in the books about their famous stare-offs, often described by Mister Edlund as ‘ _soul-searching’_ and ‘ _unflinchingly bare’_ , but this one isn’t like that. Dean is staring at something _on_ Cas.

Maybe his lack of trench coat?

Charlie has to admit, she'd been looking forwards to seeing him in the infamous _trench coat_ , so finding him already decked in classic Winchester-wear _is_ pretty disappointing (not to mention _weird_ ), even though he's still hot in them. She’d head-canoned the _fantastic_ idea that Cas likened the coat to his Angel wings which had been thought up by the insightful online fans of the Winchesters. Now he looked a little bit swamped by Sam’s hoodie and was almost tripping on the jeans, the poor darling. Nothing majestic about him now. Just all clumsy and mortal and sweet.

“He’s here for some tattooing - are you up for the job, my Queen?”

“Huzzah!” she cheers, fist-pumping and enthusiastically dragging Cas down the corridor before Dean can echo her cheer.

Dean rolls his eyes at the sound of her pummelling Cas with a hundred and one questions. He spots the targets and looks pained by their pristine-ness. Crowley points at Kevin who is half-hidden behind his tea.

“Is it going… well?” he hedges. Kevin cringes. “Yeah, okay. But at least you got… uh-” Dean looks really hard for any good ones, “… at least you... got the wall-”

“Okay, okay, but when am I gonna need to shoot anything anyway, right? I mean, my job’s _here_ with the Tablet, and nothing can get in here.”

Though that is true and Dean trusts the Bunker’s sanctity with all the pie in the world and his beloved car on top, it never hurts to be prepared - he's about to tell Kevin this, but as his expression sours, Dean quickly moves on to asking about the tattoos. He’s glad to hear they're on respectable places, even so - he flat out refuses Crowley’s offer to display his ribs and hopes Cas doesn’t choose something dodgy like a tramp-stamp under Charlie's expert advice.

“So Cas’ went to find _God_ ,” Kevin prompts, one eyebrow flying up incredulously. “Should’ve known.”

“He's got faith - he’s the only one out of us who _does_ ,” Dean says a little defensively. He hates that Cas keeps setting himself up for disappointment ( _again_ ), but what can he do? He’s made his choice. It’s not one Dean agrees with - he’d prefer that they base their plans on something a little more concrete than faith, but the least Dean can do is respect Cas’ decisions and be prepared for the crushing fallout. “How’s the Tablet going, or have you only spent your time killing…walls _?”_

“It's on hiatus,” Kevin says shortly and leaves it that. Crowley tuts and shakes his head.

“You have no tact, mate,” he mutters, “The kid’s been happier distancing himself from that rock.”

“Yeah, well he’s gotta face it sometime _before_ we all die.”

“Do you even know if there's any useful information there? Is it really worth our time?” Crowley says, “There’s a lot we don’t know, but one thing we _do_ know is that Angel Tablet isn’t getting translated any time soon, so maybe we should be putting our efforts towards something else instead.”

“Like _what?_ ”

The careless shrug Crowley gives him is worth a sucker punch to the jaw, but Dean reels it in - he wants to hear what he has to say.

“I’m only making a _suggestion_ ,” Crowley points out, “ _You're_ the boss. I’ve been keeping my ears open, but there's nothing to hear. A lot of quiet, a lot of waiting. They're waiting for something, but unless you're willing to go down there to see what that is, we’ve got a fat load of nothing.”

“It’s gotta be something really bad keeping all their attention like that,” Dean muses, rolling his eyes when Crowley nods wearily, “Glad you agree.”

“It’s something worth drawing _all_ of Hell’s attention. What does _that_ tell you?”

Dean nods, reluctantly agreeing with his assessment. Though he hates to admit it - having Crowley around is actually not as bad as he’d thought it would be. As well as keeping an ear open for downstairs, he's kept an eye on Kevin, topping him up with tea when he gets too wound up. His advice is worth noting too - he makes a fair point: they need to take action _stat_.

The problem is that they're pretty much at a standstill at this point - with no idea how to get these Angels back to a broken Heaven and Hell stirring up something awful beneath their feet - time is of the essence, yet they have nothing to go on.

“Perhaps you should inform Moose that you’ve found your wayward pal if you haven’t already. I seem to remember you left him quite a few panicked messages.”

“Damn, totally forgot,” Dean punches out a quick text without checking the half dozen replies he’s got from Sam - he already knows they’ll be full of capitalised ranting, offers of help and calling him out for being a complete and utter jerk. Knowing Sam, he’s out there searching for Cas - he’s probably so focused on tracking Cas that he won’t bother to check his phone, therefore he won’t know Cas is safe and sound at home. Damn.

They suffer a few minutes in awkward silence until Charlie’s un-ladylike snort is heard from a few doors down, followed by Cas’ rough and bumbling baritone. Curious, the two share a glance before going to check it out.

They find Charlie calmly taping a patch over his shoulder, Cas’ nose pretty much pressed against her hand in an effort to see what she is doing.

Dean fights back a… a reaction - any reaction he might have made - to _where_ Cas has decided to have his tattoo. It’s exactly where _he_ has a hand print burnt on his shoulder, and he knows there’s significance in that choice , but he’s unwilling to think on it any more - they’re already dangerously close to _let’s get matching friendship bracelets_ territory and he’s not gonna mention that. Nope. And when Cas turns to look up at him with something in his gaze, some  _meaning,_ Dean pretends he's got dirt in his eyes to scrub clean. Then he has an itchy nose, and the sudden urge to yawn. But then his eyes get sucked in to  _Cas and his tattoo_ and he can't make himself look away from it a second time. 

Charlie grins knowingly at him and ruffles Cas’ unruly mop of hair.

“Good boy. Took it like a champ,” she exclaims proudly, tweaking his nose, “Not a single tear. You guys are no fun - no whimpering, no flinching at my big-ass needle...”

“So, uh… is it okay?” Dean can’t peel his eyes away from the tattoo. It will have to heal, but the ink is in his skin, marking it and protecting him. Cas continues trying to meet his eyes, something intense in his blues that makes Dean feel self-conscious somehow. He flushes, wishing he hadn't said a word.

“It doesn’t hurt,” Cas admits slowly, “But it throbs, like there is a second heartbeat.”

“Keep it dry,” Charlie tells him, giving him one last fond hair-ruffle before she starts to pack up the equipment. Dean tries to turn his attention to what she’s doing but his eyes traitorously keep slipping back to Cas and his damn _shoulder._ He’s pulled his sleeve over it, but it’s still _there._ He can taste the significance of it there, but he can barely understand it. He wants to stop and not think on it anymore, but he can’t.

The brand on Dean’s shoulder is inert. Other than being a little raised from the rest of his skin, it doesn’t feel any different to any of the other scars on his body - it’s just a scar, like all the other scars he’s ever gotten. 

Dean resists the temptation to paw at his own shoulder, knowing it would be weird to the other people in the room. Already he knows he’s disturbing the peace by projecting his awkward thoughts via his contorted expression and guarded silence.

Cas gingerly reaches for the hoodie -

“Hey - is that the _amulet_?”

Darn Charlie and her observant gamer eyes.

She stops Cas and boldly takes the pendant, plucking it from his chest and turning it in her hands. A jolt - a random flare of jealousy begs Dean to take it from her - his feet take him there instantly, yet as he leans over to take it from her she jerks back, and instead of dropping it she grips it tighter.

“Charlie,” Dean blurts out. It’s not an order by any means, not a plea either - he just says her name out of lack of things to say and waits impatiently. Expectantly.  _Give it back, give it back -_

“It’s smaller than I thought,” she murmurs, totally captivated by the tiny bronze face, “And less… shiny.”

“It’s nothing,” he says dismissively.

Cas scowls at Dean, “Sam gave it to you, Dean. It is important.”

“It’s supposed to lead you to God, isn’t it?” Charlie pipes up, clearly thrilled at getting to show off her Winchester trivia.

“So far it hasn’t, but I believe it will,” Cas nods, eagerly taking it back and letting it hang freely from his neck.

“How does it do that? Does it glow blue or something?”

“I have no idea, but when the time comes, I will know.”

Dean snorts, but doesn’t say anything else. He got the freaking LOTR reference, sadly enough. His hands are still awkwardly hovering, so he stuffs them in his pockets, “If we’re done here, Cas has gotta get in some shooting 101 before he heads out. What do you think, m’ lady?” he bumps shoulders with her - no hard feelings for his odd behaviour, “In your opinion.”

She squints at Cas, head tilting to the side thoughtfully.

“I dunno… a Beretta?” she shrugs, “I only play the games, Q. You're the real weapons expert.”

“Good choice though. It’ll do,” Dean nods, he turns to the doorway - only now noticing it’s empty as Crowley’s wandered off, “I’ve got this one, Charlie. Thanks for teaching Kevin (I guess) but if the time comes that you have to face some bad guys-”

“-keep him away from the guns. Yeah, poor baby’s got some way to go,” she grins.

Dean mirrors her grin, “I’ll be more scared for _us_ than the enemy if it comes to that.”

They head to the shooting range and get the basics down, though Dean hastens to add that they're only going to use rubber bullets first to let him get used to the feel of it. It only takes a couple shots for Dean to realise how long it’s gonna take to get him up to scratch - he’s way off target and _slow_. He really shouldn’t have expected much, but they don’t have time for proper training which poses a major problem.

“Alright, this ain’t gonna work,” he empties the gun, ignoring Cas’ put-out expression. “You and Kev are _hopeless_ , but it isn’t your fault, I suppose.”

“It hasn’t even been an _hour_ -”

“And I already know you're crap. Doesn’t take long to know these things - trust me, either you're good or you're not. We don’t have time to train you up, but I know is you're damn freaky with hand-to-hand combat, so maybe your not a lost cause… so come at me,” he holds out his arms beckoningly, “Go on.”

Cas balks, thoroughly confused by Dean who’s standing with his body angled sideways to him, bouncing on his toes as if preparing himself to pounce. He tilts his head.

“What is it you want me to do, Dean?”

“Attack. Fight. Come on - _come at me._ ”

“But I don’t want to fight you.”

“It’s just practice, Cas - that’s the whole point of all of this. We’re training you so you can defend yourself in the big bad world when you get attacked.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Oh _come on_ ,” Dean growls, darting forwards aggressively. He makes as if to punch Cas - who dodges the blow last-minute - and aims a kick at him - which just skims his knee. It’s almost as if Cas doesn’t believe Dean will go through with the hits. Dean dallies with the idea of proving him wrong - but the thought of knocking Cas all black and blue immediately puts him off. He doesn’t want to hurt him, but Cas _has_ to learn.

“I saw you beat up those dick-Angels before. You have the  _moves,_ Cas, I know you do. Let me have it. _Come on!_ ”

He continues to advance on Cas, deliberately getting faster and more aggressive, provoking him from dodging into _actually_ fighting. Dean gets it - the moment something in Cas switches from being passive to wanting to fight _back._ It’s instant, like a match being lit - _explosive_ the way he suddenly grits his teeth and slams his knuckles into Dean’s jaw.

Dean reels at the first punch Cas throws, he relishes the way it unbalances Cas completely, proving that he packed his weight behind it. He’s not holding back anymore. Cas lands a few good ones on Dean and then starts to track his signature moves, learning him to the point where he can predict his unrefined brawl-fighting and use it to over-balance him, countering Dean’s greater strength with his agility and speed. Dean is made speechless by the sight of him.

 _This_ is what he was talking about - this flowing crazy martial arts that baffles him with its efficiency and elegance. It's like nothing he's ever seen before - ruthless, beautiful... Cas has still got it - even if he’s weaker without Grace to back it up, he’s a textbook perfect fighter.

“Awesome,” he gasps, catching Cas also breathless. “You don’t need to learn how to shoot beyond the basics if you can fight like this. If someone starts shooting at you, just duck and roll, my friend. You're gonna be alright going out like this though.”

“I would be better with a blade,” Cas says, staring at his hands like he’s never seen them before.

“Like an Angel blade?”

“Any blade. A hand weapon I can use to decapitate my enemies.”

“Geez, okay there Scissorhands - let’s go find you something.”

They dig through the Bunker’s impressive arsenal for daggers and a short sword Cas chooses that’s only the length of his forearm, and then they lie back and let their sweat cool their overheated skins whilst Cas examines his pickings. He runs his fingers along each unsharpened edge from sheath to point - not testing for deadliness but simply admiring the cool touch of smooth metal. He quietly remarks that they won’t draw blood this blunted, to which Dean laughs.

“They're pretty rusty. At least you can give ‘em tetanus while you're at it, eh?” he hands Cas the whetstone, “Have at it until they can slice through something like bone without any pressure, but don’t test it on yourself.”

“Are you going somewhere?” Cas asks, picking up on the _catch-you-later_ in his tone far too easily.

With his head tilted back to track Dean’s movements like that, the softened line of his peach-fuzzed jaw is more obvious in the light, and Dean’s shadow darkens his eyes navy blue and unreadable. He’s not the best at reading body language, but even his lack of skill can tell that Cas is not pleased. His rigid posture shows his stubbornness to move and follow Dean like he always tends to do, which unsettles Dean - he’s at a loss for words once again.

He licks his lips and turns away from Cas’ penetrating stare.

“Sam’s probably going mad looking for you. I told him you had gone, so he’s obviously freaking out. He won’t check his phone. I was gonna go get him - save him from his stupid car and then help him with the Angels. You're free to go - do whatever you want. Go… find _God_.”

“As soon as this weapon is deadly,” Cas guides the whetstone over the edge smoothly, the ring of metal chiming in their ears. Dean catches the reflection of one of his blue eyes in a shiny spot near the point, “I will.”

“Good - you… do that. Keep in touch - Charlie will give you a cell phone,” Dean hastily pats him on the shoulder - so quickly, he barely felt Cas’ body heat under the thin shirt, “Watch yourself,” he mutters, determined to not look back as he leaves.

The sigh of stone singing on metal follows him on the way out.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

Sam is about to flip his lid.

“God _damn_ it! We must be out of range,” he snarls, glowering at the chunk of useless technology in his hand. The chuckle to his left is not at all appreciated, but it’s not worth losing it over either. “We  _never_ lose signal _._ Fuck, I miss home.”

“I'm guessing home has awesome reception?” Gabe asks, picking at the lint on his sleeve. Bouncing in his seat like a kid wanting to go to Disney - or this awesome place with _unlimited_ _reception_ , “I wanna see it.”

“We need to help find Cas first - you useless _pagan_ ,” Sam snaps, shooting a withering look at the smirking Angel, ignoring the shocked looks of some passersby. For all the time they'd been on the road together, Gabriel hasn't lifted a finger.

“Excuse you! Pagan _god… ex-_ pagan god, actually-”

“Shut up _._ How can you not know where your own brother could be? I could name a hundred places Dean would go - even shitfaced or drugged, I’d know!”

“You live out of each others’ pockets - _of course_ you’d know. That kind of disgusting borderline incestuous co-dependent living means that any time, any day you’d know exactly what Dean was doing, where and copious other details about it. Tell me Sam, is he scratching his ass right now? Or maybe he’s guzzling a quart of whiskey, am I right?”

“Shut _up!”_

“Anyway, he’s a predictable human being - pie, women, booze - not exactly the Da Vinci code to crack there.”

“If we’re going by your kind of thinking, we should be stalking burger joints and steak houses then,” at Gabriel’s confused look, Sam explains, “That was what Cas craved the last time he was nearing human. Well, that _really_ narrows down the field, doesn’t it?”

Gabriel hums thoughtfully, scratching his nose, “That wasn’t really  _Cas_ though, was it? That was the poor chump he was riding’s preferences. You haven’t ever really got to know _Cas the Angel’s_ favourite things, have you? Those would be things his Grace would lead him to though, not his body, but if we’re tracking Cas - _the real_ Cas - those would still be things he’d be drawn to.”

“But maybe he’s gonna be listening to his body more than his Grace, now that it’s _his_. Even if it was Jimmy’s before, he _loved_ those burgers too. Man, you should’ve seen him eat,” Sam shakes his head, a fond grin reluctantly making its way onto his face - the memory of Cas shoving tons of White Castles down his throat without stopping to breathe. It’s an interesting conundrum though, thinking about it - now that Cas is a human himself, would he be guided in life by his body’s preferences or his residual Grace?

“Yeah, well there are burger joints _everywhere_. This nation was built on burgers. It's run by burgers. Needle in a haystack situation.”

It was only noon, he’d gone for much longer chasing demons or hunting other monsters without feeling this amount of stress - but this time was different. For one, he was trying to find his extremely vulnerable best friend before he got himself in trouble (to put it less delicately = _killed_ ), with no real clue where he could be. Also, he had to deal with Gabriel - _the Trickster -_ for the entire morning, making everything a bazillion times worse.

Gabriel grabs another bar of candy - they're already nearing the end of this last batch of snacks bought only an hour ago - and Sam’s highly sceptical about the _ex-_ Archangel’s capacity for that much sugary food now that he’s human. He keeps the windows down and an eye on Gabriel’s face for it turning grey, not willing to have to deal with him upchucking everything in this small a car on top of everything. The stench of it would suffocate them for the rest of the journey.

He snatches it away.

“No more,” he chucks it out of the window, grimly satisfied with Gabe’s gaping mouth and blessed silence. “I’m not cleaning up after you when you barf it all up.”

“You're mean.”

“Deal with it.”

“A downright rude bastard.”

“Do I care?”

“That was cruel-”

“For fuck’s sake, _I don’t care!”_ Sam roars, jabbing his phone again to check the battery. As if by magic, this time when he presses a button the mighty Cell Phone Gods send down a text message -it’s from Kevin.

He had been hoping for a reply from _Dean_ about Cas, but - the news Kevin was giving him… no, it wasn’t Kevin. It was signed ‘ _-C’_ so it was from Crowley.

“…shit.”

“What? Girlfriend trouble?”

“Crowley says that Hell’s minions are _waiting_ for something to happen. Something in _Hell_.”

“Wow-ee, sounds exciting,” Gabe pops a sucker in his mouth and twirls it. “Before you ask, I've got no idea what they're up to either. The minions are not part of _my_ jurisdiction.”

“But what could make all of them freak out like this?” Sam considers, his mind going through the possibilities. Maybe the Hell-Creatures felt threatened after his attempt to close Hell’s Gates and had retreated… but no, if anything he’d expect them to lash out. He’d have thought they'd be after _him_ after what he almost did.

This type of reaction was more peculiar. Silence - utter silence.

A bated breath. Calm before the storm - only there was nothing calm about this hiatus. It was tense as a guitar string. Sam knew without a doubt something was stirring, something big and unstoppable. And they were _waiting_. Not just Hell - all of them were waiting for it to _happen._

“You guys haven’t considered that the thing scaring the Hell-things might be an effect of the Fall, have you?”

It was the first logical proposition Gabriel had made in the whole morning, which drew Sam’s attention immediately - his expression is also pinched, not cynical.

“The effect of all these celestial beings Falling to the Earth will _obviously_ have an _impact_ ,” Gabriel says tightly, “On otherworldy beings, on _all_ of them.”

Sam narrows his eyes.

“…you know what it is, don’t you? You know what they've gone quiet for-”

“I have an idea,” Gabriel admits, “Only an idea.”

“Well?”

Gabriel eyes Sam warily, his hands clasping themselves and fidgeting anxiously.

“You already know that there are two rather famous beings locked somewhere in Hell.”

Oh.

Sam doesn’t say anything - what is there to say when you’ve completely forgotten about the two biggest and baddest in the fucking land? There really isn’t much.

Michael and _Lucifer -_ they're still in the Cage. Of _course._

“Thousands of Angels Falling - _crashing_ onto Earth - you can only imagine the effect it would have on Mike and Luce,” Gabriel shrugs half-heartedly, “I dunno, Sam. It’s just a guess - I don’t have anything to back it up, but from what you say - something to make _all_ of them fall quiet would have to be to do with _them._ They _are_ the most feared beings in Hell.”

“But they're locked up,” Sam protests, shuddering at the idea of the heavenly brothers being the cause of this evil stirring.

“They can still freak the fuck out of the Hell-things around them, Sam,” Gabriel mimes out clutching cage bars, “Just imagine how all those Angels crashing to the Earth would piss them off. Knowing that they're closer in reach than they’ve ever been, but still _just_ that bit above ground. Lucifer is led by his desire for vengeance, and Mike has always been easily manipulated by his favourite brother - being locked in the Cage would certainly have helped him see things his way.

“Think about it, Sam. With that much anger bottled up - they're gonna be rattling the Cage bars till _everyone_ downstairs knows how pissed off they are. They're gonna be making so much noise that the whole place will be on edge - God only knows how much the Cage can take before it lets out _.”_

“So Hell is all worked up because they're ‘ _rattling the Cage bars’_?”

“Maybe, maybe not - it’s only speculation, dumbass. Haven’t I said that already? You can’t take my word for it.”

Sam frowns, “I'm not - anyway, you're _speculation_ isn’t concrete - wouldn’t the Hell-things be running _away_ from the noise if Michael and Lucifer are making such a racket?”

“You would’ve thought so, but maybe they have a good reason for staying. Remember that a fair number of demons were on Lucifer’s side during the Apocalypse - they wanted him to rule the world, and even though they failed they still might want that to happen. They might be sticking close to prove their loyalty remains - you know, sucking up.”

“But that doesn’t explain the quiet.”

“Would _you_ want to add to the noise if your eardrums are already bleeding?”

“…good point,” he assents, unable to resist glancing once at his phone. It beeps, right on time. He checks it over and gets the sudden (yet familiar) urge to throttle his brother. _Got Cas. Back at bunker. Wanna meet?_

Sam grits his teeth.

 _Stay where you are. We’re coming back._ He delights in withholding who ‘ _we’_ are, knowing how much Dean _loves_ Gabriel’s company, he reckons the surprise will be well-received.

There’s no reply so Sam starts up the engine and takes them toward the highway again, ignoring Gabriel’s questions about where they're going. So far there haven't been any more Angel incidents, but just to be safe, Sam narrows his field of vision to be just between the car and himself - blocking out the noisy passenger to his left and the disturbing silence of his phone. From there to home, it’s just him and the road ahead.

 

 

 

 

 

  

* * *

 

 

Despite Dean’s warning, Cas tests each blade on himself.

Just a gentle nick on his ankle - each one bleeds with barely any force behind it. He sheaths them one-by-one and straps them to various places on his body, tucked under his sleeves and in his trouser cuffs in easy reach. Once that is done, he steps out of the shooting range.

The corridor funnels sound from the mission room, even at a distance he can hear voices - Charlie’s bright laughter above the low burr of men talking. It’s a welcoming sound that lures him closer, and when he slips into the room there are a couple glances his way but none of them break away from the conversation.

This doesn’t bother Cas at all. Sometimes when he’d been amongst others who been dismissive this way, he’d felt like he was trespassing - but this time he doesn’t feel ignored. In fact, he is glad they didn’t stop on his account. If he had stopped their conversation, he would’ve felt guilty and awkward.

All of these thoughts race through them, hypothetical and current ones, some of them too fleeting to dwell on. He files some away to be examined more closely later and keeps a couple around - the sense of belonging to this mismatch team is warm and resembles how glorious belonging to his holy family had once been, in the _good times_ when they’d all loved each other.

Their voices resonate like a pleasant hum, he doesn’t hear what they're talking about, just what they sound like. He wraps it around him like a blanket and lets it pass through him.

“- no more of that nasty leaf-water. Not in my kitchen- oh.”

The addition of _this_ warm, low voice forces Cas’ eyes to open in disbelief.

“Dean?”

Indeed, the hunter has four bottles of beer in his hands, a sheepish look creeping over his face in a half-blush. Wasn’t he meant to have gone by now? He’d said so before - Cas asks him this.

“Look, I don’t wanna offend you or anything, but… I’m gonna stick with you, just for now - just to be safe. I know you can handle yourself but I want someone having your back until you're properly on your feet and, y’know, since I'm here -” he rubs the back of his neck and Charlie giggles, “You're _awesome_ at combat fighting, dude, but the people who wanna hurt you are gonna be using everything in and out of the book to get at you - guns, knives, whatever - you name it. That’s not even including the supernatural things they might throw at you. You're outnumbered, even with me you are… but I'm not gonna just let you face them alone, alright?”

“You're coming with me?”

“No, you're coming with _me_ ,” Dean doles out the beers before the three can start whining about the delay, and after a brief hesitation, he hands the last one to Cas. “I take it you don’t have an actual place in mind, do you? You're just looking for God anywhere.”

Cas sips the beer, swallows it slowly. He’s _tasting_ it, Dean realises, much to his amusement. He drinks beer like water, so it’s pretty funny for him to see Cas’ contemplative expression as he discovers the taste of cheap beer is called ‘piss-water’ for a reason, and his mouth twists into a slight grimace.

He nods, “There is no specific place to search for Him. I plan to pray for His help and guidance.”

“Well, you can do that in the Impala. While we go find Sam.”

“I thought you were both going to find and interrogate the Angels?”

“ _Relax._ When we come across them we’ll deal with it then. If they try to gut you, they’ll have to go through me first and then your shiny new knives, alright?”

Cas agrees with his plan, sinking a little in his chair in… what he believes to be _relief_. Dean grins, pleased with Cas’ approval, and finds Kevin gives him an almost imperceptible nod at him respecting _Cas’_ choice, not babying him. Dean plucks the beer from Cas and downs the last dregs.

“This stuff is crap, just so you know. Don’t think that all beer is this bad,” he tells him, pulling him up from his seat. They wave at the others and start heading out of the Bunker. “I’ll get some better ones next time for you to try.”

“I’ve tried the ‘better ones’,” he says, to Dean’s shocked glance he shrugs, “In my opinion, you can’t improve on the taste.”

Dean laughs, “Well, maybe you're a lady-drinker, or maybe you’ve got the gut for harder stuff.”

“I sincerely doubt it,” Cas mutters, eyes wandering between Dean and the car, “I also think I heard somewhere that you're not meant to drive for some hours after drinking, _Dean_.”

“Oh _please._ It’s not like I've never driven you places completely sober before.”

After that, it takes nearly twenty minutes of whining and apologising for Dean to convince him to get in the car. Needless to say, the ride that follows is the bumpiest, swerviest drive Dean’s ever taken Cas on, as if someone watching is really trying to get Cas to hate him more in that moment. He can’t help but think he really doesn’t need the help.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Sam realises he might be breaking some traffic laws when he spots the blinking of a police light following him down the empty highway. With no one else for miles around, it can only be _them_ , so he diligently slows his vehicle to a stop and tries to drown out Gabriel’s sniggers by imagining different scenarios where _he’s_ the one that ends up sleeping in a cell overnight in his head, while he drives away… far, far away. It’s oddly soothing to think about.

He hears the thud of the police car door and clunky booted footsteps growing louder and closer.

The tread is comparatively light, and the sway of each footstep has a wider berth - it’s a policewoman. Confident. Young.

Sam rolls down his window and keeps his eyes lowered deferentially, “Ma’am.”

“’ _Ma’am’?_ I was only joking about ‘ _mom_ ’-ing you, Winchester!”

“ _Sheriff Mills?”_

Gabriel’s sniggering peters off, “Oh, you two _know_ each other?” it becomes a suggestive smirk.

Jodie Mills scrunches up her nose, hands on her hips in disgust, “Did you not hear me say _‘mom’_ -ing him? What type of relationship do you think that means?”

Sam tries to jump in, but Gabe is too fast.

“A _kinky_ one?” he drapes an arm over his forehead, “Oh Oedipus-”

Her face darkens and without preamble, Mills leans in across Sam to grab Gabriel by the ear. She drags him almost out of the car through the window, trapping Sam on the side with Gabriel’s flailing limbs. He would complain, but pain aside - it’s worth it to watch Gabriel turn red in embarrassment. Nothing is as satisfying as seeing a righteous Mills calling a spluttering ex-Archangel out on his behaviour.

“What was that? _What was that I heard you say?_ ” Mills asks with perfect calm, the glint in her eye the only indication of her inner wrath.

“Nothing ma’am, nothing at all.”

“Uh-huh. I’ll let you off _this_ one time, but only because you're Sam’s friend-”

“He _isn’t-”_

“Hey _pal_ ,” Gabriel hisses out of the side of his mouth, “I would shut up now, if I were you,” he rolls his eyes meaningfully, “If I wanted any more _information_ from a good buddy, El Sammo - I’d help get him out of the clutches of this _lovely lady_ here.”

Mills doesn’t look impressed. “Flattery will get you nowhere, son,” she says, reluctantly releasing his glowing earlobe and extracting herself from the car. As she straightens back up, she pulls a face, “Where’s that gorgeous car you Winchesters usually ride around in? Why’d Dean let you drive this heap of crap?” she frowns, “Are you two fighting again?”

“No, for once we’re not,” Sam shrugs, “The car is Dean’s. I had to travel _somehow_ , so I just…” he blinks, it only hits him that he’s admitting to car-jacking to a law-enforcer this late. He smiles sheepishly, “… would you believe me if I said I found it?”

Her eyebrow flies up, “If you say you found it in a junkyard, I’d believe you.”

Sam laughs, clambering out so he can greet her properly with a hug. “What are you doing here?”

“Just doing my rounds - I've been keeping an eye out for you boys, but not had the time to look for you. There's been a lot of hysterical people to comfort these past couple weeks,” she crosses her arms and peers up at him, making his ears flush hot, “I’ve been thinking it was something to do with your field of expertise, these ‘ _meteors’_ causing so much trouble everywhere. I thought it would be best to keep things out of your way so you guys can do what you do. Never expected to bump into you again myself, but it’s good to see you again, sweetie,” she grins.

“You guessed right - it’s our kinda thing,” Sam chuckles, “A big one this time, Sheriff.”

“When is it _not?”_ she asks, finally turning her attention to Gabriel. “So, who’s he?”

“You… wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

“It’s a long story…” Sam manages to cut out a lot of it, shortening the whole story down to the main parts, which in total still takes a good twenty minutes to relay. By the end, Mills’ jaw is hanging open and she can’t take her eyes off of Gabriel. It’s clear she’s in shock - particularly of the fact that she just scolded an ex- _Archangel_ of the Lord.

“They were Angels,” she breathes, turning her face up to the sky, “All of… those were _Angels!”_

“Don’t panic, they're all done Falling,” Gabriel says, finally joining them outside the car (now that he’s no longer sulking). “They're not gonna drop on your head like flaming pigeon poo all of a sudden.”

It’s a bit of a bombshell to drop on the woman, but she brushes the weight of it off like it’s nothing, and lets out a hissing sigh. “Well I’ll be. Born and raised a Christian, but I never really thought…” she waves a hand at Gabriel, “… you’d be this-”

“Good looking?” He waggles his eyebrows.

“-short,” she deadpans.

The wink she gives Sam makes his heart do a little leap of glee, but then she softens her stance against Gabriel a little and does her ‘mom-face’ in a whole other, less threatening way.

“This must be hard on you.”

“It’s hard on all of us,” Gabriel says curtly, shrugging off her concern, “But hey - we’re all stuck in the same toilet, trying to claw our way out in a Sadako-outta-the-freaking-well fashion.”

“But they're _your_ family,” she presses, completely missing Sam’s frantic hand gestures to _bypass_ that topic- “Aren't they? In the end, you can’t forget that.”

“No,” he agrees, surprisingly calm. Something in his tone freaks Sam out though, until he remembers Gabriel is sans-Grace now, so he can’t trap them in a never ending loop-world with just a click of his fingers. Realising this fills him with a mix of confidence and pity - he feels for Gabriel, from the powerful being he used to be, humanity must be so disappointing. “No, you can never forget family,” he concludes darkly.

Mills nods with the correct amount of sympathy in her expression, but quickly turns to Sam again. It’s clear that Gabriel makes her uncomfortable, not only due to his inappropriate comments, but the subtle yet sudden switches in his inflections - revealing a perhaps more disturbing underside to his flirtatious façade.

“Anyway, what’s got you in such a hurry, kiddo? You were leaving dust clouds behind you at that speed.”

“We’re just headed home.”

“Oh? You boys have a home now?” she visibly eases at this new bit of knowledge, and then becomes eager, “Can I come see?”

Sam squirms, “Aren't you working?” he asks, picturing in his head what her reaction will be to the Bunker - it’s not dirty or untidy, but blatantly _masculine._ Sam cringes at the thought of her added ‘ _feminine touch’_ which they will let her do, based on the fact that she will _mom-face_ them into submission otherwise.

“Sure am. I’ll be keeping a close eye on trouble first hand, in the form of Mr Family Issues over there, and Mr Tall and… Jesus, what happened to your _hair_ , Sam?” she asks, tugging at the end of his shoulder-length locks.

Gabriel snorts out of spite, “Oh, I like her!” he declares, wiping clean their rocky start with a massive, charming smile and drawing a surprisingly girlish giggle out of her. The winds have changed, and all of a sudden Sam is teamed up against, both of them grabbing his hair and Gabriel braiding it alarmingly fast.

It’s like a dream turned nightmare.

He slaps their hands off in a way Dean would definitely describe as ‘bitchy-schoolgirl-got-pwned’ (should’ve never taught him what ‘pwned’ was) and steers Gabriel back into the dinky car, motioning over his shoulder at Mills to follow them behind. For the first solid five minutes of the drive, Sam can literally feel Gabriel holding back laughter and staring at him nonstop. It gets that side of his head all itchy.

At his questioning _growl,_ Gabriel sighs dramatically.

“Such a shame your manful mane doesn’t hold cornrows…”

Well… that explains the itch.

  

 

* * *

 

 

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit-”

The drive has evolved from being the bumpiest, clumsiest _sabotaged-by-a-god-out-to-prove-Dean-wrong-to-Cas_ drive of Dean’s life to having the worst fucking weather of the century making it damn impossible to see through the sleet.

“As I said several minutes ago, we should pull over, Dean,” Cas murmurs, careful to make his tone as non-condescending as is actually possible. Already they’ve bickered nine times since leaving the Bunker, which has made the atmosphere in the car almost unbearable eighty-per-cent of the time. The last thing they need is to get into another argument. Dean knows this, and yet he can’t stop his blood from boiling at the pointed suggestion - he _hates_ being wrong.

“Goddamn - I _know,_ Cas. I already admitted you were right, okay? Let it go.”

“I’m not trying to aggravate the situation-”

“But you _are_ , so shut the fuck up,” he snaps, flicking on the fog lights, “Can’t see a damn thing - I'm _trying_ to pull over without falling off the edge of a road _I can’t. Frigging. See!_ ” he squints, but the rain is just too thick to see through, “The last thing we need is to get stuck in a roadside ditch!”

“That is true… I understand your hesitation, Dean -”

“Good, it’s really freaking _great_ that you do!” Dean knows he’s taking his anger at their situation out on Cas, but he’s just as used to Dean’s moods as Sam is by now, and takes the yelling without batting an eyelash. He slowly guides the Impala to the kerb till he _thinks_ they're as near to the edge they can go, and then he flips on the hazard lights - though he doubts anyone will be able to see them through the rain. “What is this crap? We don’t get freak rainstorms in Kansas!”

“This weather is quite unheard of, especially for this season,” Cas agrees, sounding like he is talking more to himself in thought than at Dean. He watches him unbuckle himself and press his hands against the glass, and fights the urge to tell him to stop getting sticky handprints all over his baby, because the reflection of Cas against the dark shows him deep in thought. He’s got that freaky expression where you do _not_ want to disturb him, so Dean stays quiet.

Killing the engine feels like admitting defeat, but there's no way they can drive through this downpour safely. Looks like they’ll have to camp in the car for the night - it’s not something he’s never done before, but Dean groans at the thought of all the aches he’ll have in the morning. He’s no spring chicken anymore, so the cramped seats added to the crappy cold weather will bring him joint pains come the morning.

“Fan-freaking-tastic,” he mutters, glaring at the water sluicing every window, “Alright. Cas, you're smaller than me and damn scrawny. Get your ass in the backseat.”

But Cas doesn’t seem to hear him - he’s still staring out ofthe window. The faint gleam of his pale face in the reflection is ghostly and intent, his furrowed brows cast shadows, blurring his eyes in shadows so they can’t be seen in the dark. Dean can’t take his eyes off him - particularly drawn in by the skull-like prominence of Cas’ pale, angular face put into high contrast by the scant, yet lamp-like light.

“What are you thinking?”

The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them. Instead of looking put off by his disturbance, Cas merely tilts his head, revealing one bright coloured eye in his reflection.

“This weather is strange,” he says, as if that spells it all out for him.

Well, in a way, it does - Dean gets that ‘ _strange’_ means _supernatural -_ their kind of thing. The fact that Cas is suggesting something supernatural is causing the weather change is like the cherry on the top of the disaster they’ve wandered into.

“What do you think is causing this then?” Dean has to ask the obvious question.

“I have no idea.”

“That’s wonderful. Fucking great,” he slaps Cas on the shoulder, grinning brightly just to throw him off, “We’re stuck in this car in the middle of nowhere by some bad _rain_ , and we’re stranded without a fucking clue how to make it stop.”

“That concludes our dilemma,” Cas mumbles, turning his gaze back to the outdoors, “I don’t think we are in danger though. We would already know by now if we were.”

“I’m really glad you've still got that inspiring optimism, buddy, but really - this is not a good place to be. If it hasn’t escaped your notice, we. Can’t. _Move,”_ he enunciates, “Meaning that if something’s decided to trap us here, we’re sitting ducks.”

Cas frowns, “Dean-”

He jabs his finger, “ _Don’t_ start.”

Before Cas can answer him - Dean spots the distant shape of a person in the rain. Dean spots it over Cas’ shoulder, the blurry form of a man a good few yards away, dark against the rain. He points it out to Cas, but as he turns, the figure disappears.

“He was just there!” Dean insists, squinting at the place he’d seen him. “I swear I’m not joking, I just saw him-”

“I believe you,” Cas says, craning his neck to check the back windows.

This is not good.

Mysterious figure in the rain - they're stuck in the front seats of the car. All the equipment and weapons are in the back - out of reach if they need them. All Dean’s got on him are his gun, a pack of salt bullets and the usual handy items such as emergency goofer dust, the demon knife and a mini-can of spray paint.

Okay, it’s actually not so bad. He has the essentials.

But Cas… no, Cas has his knives now. He mustn’t worry about Cas.

“What could it be?” Dean asks, trying to run through the lists of creatures he knows of in his head that would fit this profile. Water spirits? No, they require bodies of water. Some kind of nymph…?

“I don’t know, but I… am not afraid.”

“Oh really? You know - maybe you _should_ be, seeing as we have no idea what it is!” Dean hisses. It’s becoming more claustrophobic in the car, the dark night closing in - Dean would have usually burst out of the car, no hesitation - but this time, in the rain… it might put them more at the disadvantage. At least they've got some shelter and protection in the car. For now.

“I don’t know… I just,” Cas shivers, “I can’t explain it, but I'm not afraid.”

“You should be - _holy fuck._ ”

The silhouette is _there_ , right there -

Its shadowy hands are pressed against Cas’ through the window glass, fitted against them Tarzan-to-Jane-style. At the same time a rumble of thunder right overhead vibrates through the car - Dean recoils, grabbing the back of Cas’ shirt to drag him to his side of the car. Cas tumbles onto his lap, completely disorientated - but when he points out the shadowed figure he is disgustingly satisfied by the widening of Cas’ eyes. Fear, surprise, curiosity - all flash across his face. He can’t hear it, but he can feel the rapid thud of Cas’ heart against his hand.

Dean keeps one arm secure around Cas’ waist, with the other he digs in his pocket for his gun which he immediately turns on their shady interloper.

“Wait!”

Cas’ struggling is strong enough to stop Dean from getting a clear shot. When he manages to wrestle him down - he’s disappeared again.

“ _Shit -_ you saw it though! Didn’t you? You saw it!”

“I did, but as I said before - I don’t think it means us harm.”

“Bullshit, it’s fucking creepy!” Dean eyes the opposite door warily, subconsciously squeezing Cas more tightly to himself.

Then, the glass behind his head is knocked on three times.

His heart almost leaps out of his chest as he swivels around - the figure is now beating its hands against his window. Dean aims his gun up -

“No, let him in!” Cas protests, bucking against Dean.

Dean squawks, “Let him _in?_ Are you crazy?”

“Let him in, Dean,” Cas repeats, elbowing him hard in the ribs. The air is punched out of him, and Dean almost clocks his head on the opposite door as he’s thrown back.

Before Dean can stop him, Cas unlocks the door and throws it open, knocking the figure back. A yell rises in his throat, and he readies his gun-hand - but he’s not fast enough. The figure slips into the car, climbing on top of both of them. Cold, slippery hands run over them, and then the door is shut, and they are trapped in the car with the creature.

“Are you _mad?”_ Dean shoves the - the unknown _man_ \- off, flinching at how icy cold he is. Cas scrambles with Dean, squeezing them both in the passenger seat - Dean can’t help thinking how _typical_ it is that it was _Cas’_ idea to let the drowned rat in, but now he’s the one who doesn’t want to get near him. There’s no time to berate him though, he somehow manages to keep his gun aimed at him this whole time, and he jerks it to get his attention, “Who are you?”

The man tips his hood back, a cascade of water and dark curly hair tumbling out of it onto them. His face is startlingly _friendly_ , like - _not_ the face you'd expect of a serial killer person. Dean’s momentarily taken aback, but then he reminds himself that some of the best serial killers look pleasant, and use their appearance to catch their victims off-guard. The man blinks at the gun nozzle aimed at his forehead, and then lifts his eyes to Dean.

Some fluke of cinematic timing makes the thunder roll through the car again at the same time they make eye-contact. It makes a shiver go down his spine, and for a split second, the answering lightning hits the man’s face at an angle that reveals a square, honest face with a 5-day stubble and weather-beaten roughness around his nose and cheeks. The white light also reveals his eyes to be pale, pale blue.

Dean glances between the man on his lap and the one across from them. Nope, he’s right - they look freakishly alike.

Cas’ mouth is agape, and he’s _trembling._ Like, its cold - but more than that, like he’s _freezing_ and scared. The instant the man twitches as if to move his arm, Cas scrabbles for Dean’s arm and yanks him in front of him, managing to shimmy behind him thanks to the slick rain. Now, with _him_ sitting in Cas’ lap, acting as an impromptu shield ( _thanks a lot for that by the way, bud_ ), Dean thinks he should really be getting some answers about all this weirdness pretty damn soon, as in _freaking yesterday._

“What the _fuck_ is going on?”

The lightning dies, dousing the strange light in the man’s eyes, making him a little less  intimidating as he settles down. Dean gets that odd wrong feeling he’s had once or twice, when he’s had to hold a gun to a civilian to get things done - the one that tells him he should definitely _not_ shoot this man. He trusts his instincts, but he doesn’t trust this man - especially because he’s freaking Cas out - so he basically has no idea what he should be doing.

“Castiel?” the man croaks, his voice also resembles Cas’ I-just-gargled-crushed-glass-and-inhaled-an-exhaust-pipe gruffness uncannily, though his amazingly manages to be deeper and a little smoother.

“You know him?” Dean asks, feeling Cas curl his fists in the back of his shirt. “Cas?”

The man reluctantly turns his weird, pale eyes on Dean, “You must be a Winchester,” he squints, “ _The_ Winchester?”

“Dean,” Cas mutters. Dean turns his head ever so slightly, but he’s not calling his attention, his eyes are completely focused on the other guy, “He is Dean Winchester.”

He nods enthusiastically, “Oh, of course! Should’ve known,” his eyes surreptitiously flit to Dean’s left arm, where the heel of Cas’ handprint is just visible. Dean squirms under his stare.

“What are you doing here, brother?”

Brother? Oh shit - now he gets it. Now he understands why Cas is acting the way he is - this is one of his dick-Angel brothers. He immediately spreads his shoulders out, pressing Cas back into the window, putting as much distance as he can between the brothers.

These Angels want to hurt Cas, he remembers. He raises his gun more confidently now, ignoring the little voice inside him telling him it’s a bad idea. This man means him no harm - _bullshit_. If he wants to hurt Cas, he’ll have to go through him first.

“I thought I heard you,” Cas says when the other Angel doesn’t answer, “But how?”

He smiles, “Oh, my dear brother-” but as he leans forwards Dean shakes his gun.

“Don’t you move,” he barks, nudging Cas with his knee, “Who is this, Cas? Who is he?”

Cas slides an arm through and gently tugs Dean’s arms down. He grudgingly lets him - if Cas thinks they don’t need to hold him at gunpoint, he’ll let him be the judge and hold the right to freaking _tell him so_ when they both die.

“…my brother, Ramiel,” he tells him, the name sounding vaguely familiar to Dean’s ears. He doesn’t pretend to remember everything he’s ever read, but some of the cooler things do tend to stick - that isn’t to say he thinks Angels are particularly cool, but Ramiel… there was something about Ramiel.

Dean can still feel Cas clutching his shirt with one hand, but he’s moved so he can peek over his shoulder, and he’s pressed (rather inappropriately) close to his back. His heart isn’t beating through to Dean’s shoulder anymore, and it’s obvious to both of them that if Ramiel had wanted to attack them, he would’ve by now.

So why isn’t he? After what they’ve established - they’d assumed the Angels would be dying to get a piece of Cas for what his actions cost them - but Ramiel doesn’t look at all vengeful. In fact, he looks remarkably… _happy_ to see Cas.

“Oh brother,” he murmurs, his eyes filling with tears, “You must be miserable like this.”

“Like what? We’re all the same now, thanks to me,” Cas grouses, his sarcasm barely distinguishable amongst all the self-hatred. “Strike me then, brother. Punish me for my mistakes.”

Ramiel makes a noise of protest, “Never - not for what you have done, when things can still be set right. There is always a way to put things right, Castiel. Anyway, while we have the time, I have things to tell you about Heaven - about the souls that lived there.”

“Now that Heaven is no more… does that mean…?”

Ramiel nods despairingly, “They are gone. All of them - gone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The TV show would have you believe the Winchesters are naturally perfect drivers. 
> 
> ...I beg to differ.


	6. Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.

  
  
“…no, man - that’s exactly what I'm saying, I don’t know how he found us, he just  _did_ ,” he hisses, smothering a yawn in his sleeve, “… _no_ , Sam. I'm not exaggerating - he was… oh you know what? You’d be shitting yourself, seriously -  _stop laughing at me_. Ramiel’s a creepy asshole,” he squints through the blurry window pane, the distorted shapes outside even more abstracted by dots of rainwater, “I thought he’d be more ‘ _I’m a’ shank you with my Angel blade’_ than ' _let's have a nice little chit-chat'_ with Cas-”

A loud thunk startles Dean into letting out a rather un-manly squeak, and he whips around to find Cas tapping at the window and motioning at him to get outside.

He mimes _on the phone_ , pointing at his ear too, just in case he didn’t get the message.

“ _Shut up Sam,”_ he hisses, blocking out his girlish giggling. “It’s Cas. I think, fuck, I think he wants me to go outside. It’s freaking pissing it outside.  _No_ ,” there’s another urgent tap on the glass, “No, stay away from me, damn it. Geez Sam, what do I do? I don’t wanna go out there. They’ve been standing out there all this time… c’mon, I wouldn’t have let Ramiel near him if he was gonna kill him. Cas was probably just staring at him and he was staring back. That’s how they communicate.” This realisation gives him an odd twinge at the thought, though he can’t explain why.

He only realises what Cas is about to do a split second before the car door is yanked open and Niagara Falls is unleashed on him.

He grabs a handful of Dean’s clothing and hauls him out under the freezing shower.

“ _Shiiiiiiit-!”_  Dean sputters, the faint crackle of his phone drowning a pitiful death and a flash of Cas’ narrowed blue eyes the only things he sees before the deafening rain hammers his skull and has him blindly reaching for the car door for balance, “I said _no,_ Cas! _”_

Cas blinks out some rain, looks like he’s crying - “I couldn’t possibly hear you through the glass and rain.”

“ _Lip-read!_ I mimed at you-”

“Well you need to speak more clearly then.” Dean grits his teeth. “Dean. Ramiel wants us to go with him,” Cas says, teeth chattering noisily. He’s been out here for a so long that his icy hands can be felt through all of Dean’s ninety-nine layers.

“What does he want us to do that we can’t do in the _car?”_

Cas licks his lips and shrugs, the tiny movement sluicing the water out of his collar and clavicle, “He needs to be outside. That is why he said we should walk.”

Walk?  _“Walk?_ Is he  _crazy?_ We’ll die of pneumonia!”

“Dean,” Cas says,  _bitch please_  oozing from his tone, “These are not Victorian times. A little rain can’t kill us. He explicitly requested that we go, otherwise he will not tell us anything more. We need to know about Heaven and what has become of the souls.”

That was true - he’d told Sam about Ramiel knowing what’s up with the Heaven/soul dilemma, to which the bookworm informed him that Ramiel is supposedly the Angel in charge of taking souls up to heaven, so his information should be pretty legit.

“How far do we have to walk?”

Ramiel appears out of nowhere again, scaring the ever-loving crap out of Dean for the nth time that night.

“Not far at all, I only need to be at a meeting place before dawn.”

“And  _who_ might you be meeting?”

The Angel shoots a look at Cas, who frowns but says nothing. “That isn’t for me to say.”

“Oh, come on. What’s with all of this being mysterious crap? Just be straight with us, for crying out loud. I need’ta know if you're leading us into a freaking ambush, or off’a cliff-top or something…”

The Angel considers Dean with his almost translucent eyes, and then smiles thinly, “What type of person would warn their victim of their trap? Would you even refuse to go if I told you it was there, and it was a necessary step to fall for it? Does the possibility of that risk deter you at all? From what I have been told, you are the brave yet foolish one. The _risk-taker_ ,” it’s clear he’s trying not to look at Cas, so Dean does for him, questioningly - but Cas has turned himself slightly away so he faces no one. “I have heard how you place duty above your own safety, time and time again.”

Dean shivers and outright glares at Cas, “What the hell have you been saying about me, man? Geez, let’s just go then.”

They walk on for forty minutes.

The only reason Dean knows this rough estimate of time is because he’s dog tired and knows that when his muscles have gone numb and leaden, it’s telling him he’s done. Finito. His ass ain’t moving an inch further. The downpour grows heavier, drumming into his skull and shoulders. He can’t feel the cold anymore, but he can feel Cas’ grip on his arm growing weaker, almost slipping from the crook of his elbow -

“Stop.”

His voice is a croak, barely heard over a crash of thunder, “Hey, dude -  _stop!”_

For a second Dean thinks he’s not going to - he’s leaving them behind. They have no idea where they are - that’s the biggest problem. They've been walking through scrub and muddied grassland, but that’s as far as Dean gets to mapping his way mentally. But then, just as Dean considers lobbing something at Ramiel, as if he heard this thought he turns and waits for Dean to catch up. He’s half-dragging Cas along by this point, shouldering most of his weight. It’s a miracle they haven’t landed face-first in the mud (yet).

“How much longer?”

The Angel peers around, either able to see much more than Dean can, or pretending to. The brief pause is not a welcome respite - it allows him time to catch his breath, but his muscles seem to clench in, demanding time for a proper rest they can’t have. They become heavier - Cas’ dead weight drags down on Dean’s right side, but the effort of keeping him upright is worth having half of his body kept sort-of-warm, and Cas’ miserable groans remind Dean that he is not alone; he has someone to clutch onto in horror when Raziel reveals himself to be some mad, raving serial killer… Angel.

“I think we can stop now,” Ramiel announces, staring off for a couple more seconds before nodding decisively. “Yes, we’re close enough.”

“Good. Excellent. Would you mind telling us what we need to know now? I think I'm… chafing.” All his clothing layers and blue jeans make Dean a squeaky, itchy mess in the rain. He shakes himself off like a dog, growling, “It’s freaking cold out here for us humans, man! I’m going numb!”

As if in response, Cas curls around Dean tighter - the little strength left in his arms goes into hooking them around Dean’s shoulders, elbows over shoulders and clinging on tight like one of those bushbabies or koalas. A light shudder goes through them both as warm sides cool and cold flesh warms, and then there is  _feeling_  again. Dean squeezes Cas briefly in thanks.

“I have already told Castiel about the souls.”

What. The. Fuck?

Dean jostles the half-unconscious thing in his arms disbelievingly and notes that, with the way Cas’ head lolls, he’s probably actually  _fully_  asleep. Fantastic.

“Then why the hell are we here for? I knew it - I knew it - you're gonna kill u-”

“There is a reason for bringing you here,” he insists, spreading his arms out, “I can’t tell you why, but I can  _show_  you what you need to know. What you must do now is observe, and later you will understand what you must do, and what must be done to do it.”

Parts of what he says ring a bell with Dean, he recalls Sam told him that Raguel said something similar, as did Raziel… something about not being able to tell him stuff - not being  _allowed_ or whatever. These secrets the Angels are guarding, whatever they have to do with all of this, they're stuck with having to crack the code for themselves because none of them are budging.

“…so, what am I looking out for? Are we waiting for something?” he can’t help but blurt out, his impatience growing by the second.

Ramiel nods distractedly, “Some _one_ actually. I have no idea why they are so late. They usually arrive before me,” he frowns, “It’s unlike them.” After a couple of minutes, Ramiel walks away again. Dean makes to follow him, but he holds up his hand, “Stay there. Trust me.”

Flashes of panic and disbelief zap through Dean simultaneously -  _he’s leaving us, in this thunderstorm, in the dark, where we don’t know the fuck where we are -_ “Yeah, no I don’t think I believe you,” he snaps, “You're either gonna take us with you or tell us what the hell’s going on.  _Right now._ ”

Ramiel tilts his head, but unlike Cas, it’s jerky and robotic. Cold and creepy as hell, and not in the least bit reassuring. “For your own safety, I recommend you remain here.”

You couldn’t mistake that as anything but an order, disguised as a friendly suggestion.

Dean snorts.

“But how can I  _observe_ what you want to show me? If you haven’t noticed, it’s kinda hard to see any further than the end of your nose out here.”

“You will. And when you do, if I'm right in what I think will happen… you might have to find your way back to your car… on your own.”

He fucking knew it. After all this wild-goose-chasing, Ramiel was gonna bail.

“You've gotta be kidding.”

“Unfortunately I'm not. But at least you won’t be walking back in the rain.”

He doesn’t even try to understand what he means by that, and before he can say anything more Ramiel walks out of sight. Dean shifts Cas so he’s draped over one shoulder, but the position puts a strain on his neck and digs his shoulder into Cas’ ribcage. He can hear him wheezing, so he carefully swivels his cargo around, firmly detaches himself from any notion of being the gallant Prince in a Disney movie as he lifts Cas to cradle in his arms, one around his shoulder, the other under his knees.

He’s really light.

Dean makes a mental note to stuff Cas with more burgers and shit when they get back to the Bunker, home-made and  _damn_ good, if he says so himself. He drums his fingers against the bony hollow underside of Cas’ knees and stares expectantly at the place he last saw Ramiel.

Damn Angels and their fucking  _secrets_.

Excluding Cas, they're all a bunch of shady dicks, though Cas has his moments too. He's pretty sure they’ve been dumped by Ramiel - but then he hears a rumble of thunder. It’s close enough that he feels it all the way from the ground through his feet and up his legs. The noise is so deafening he almost loses his footing -

\- and then there’s the smell of ice and fire, burning heat and frost - the white light that follows, that crashes into the earth mere yards away from them - is pure and almighty -

And unmistakably  _divine_.

Dean falls flat on his ass and scrambles to throw himself over Cas to shield him from the scattered fragments of light that spear through and wind into the fabric of the air around him - vibrating right down to his core, grinding against every atom -

It’s then that Dean realises - this is  _lightning_ mere yards away, but like the thunder he heard before, it’s not like any lightning he’s ever experienced before. It’s charged with something other than electricity - something divine -  _Grace._

Over the purr of thunder, he can hear Ramiel whooping joyfully, the tickle of the last electric sparks outlining his fist-pump and delighted expression. At first it’s unclear what he’s so pleased about, but then Dean sees - for the second time that night - another figure emerging from the shadows.

“You gotta be kidding me,” he mutters.

The  _female_  figure greets Ramiel with a nerdy wave and makes to embrace him, but a small margin is left between them - Ramiel jerks his head towards Dean’s supine form. She makes a noise of surprise.

And suddenly, as though someone flipped a switch, all those thunderstorms that hovered all through their long (long,  _long_ ) trek dissipate, the night sky turns clear and the clouds part, revealing a half-moon and inky sky. The moonlight paints the scene a little more clearly, enough so that Dean can get a better look at the woman. She’s small and dainty, pretty but with strong features - a prominent jaw and brow making her appear more stubborn than her soft mouth and willowy body suggest.

Her eyes stay on him for a moment before moving onto Cas - she blinks several times. Dean tenses slightly, conflicted and wary that she might hold grudges against her brother; he gets the feeling that she doesn’t, but you can’t ever be too sure with these otherworldly creatures. As Ramiel starts to bring her towards them Dean holds up a hand and shakes his head firmly. Not any closer. Not until he is told exactly who she is and what she wants.

But instead,  _she_  starts asking the questions: “Is that…?”

Ramiel nods solemnly, his expression warm and nostalgic, “Hasn’t he grown?”

She covers her mouth, “Oh my… he has,” she turns to Ramiel, “Has he - does he  _know?_ ”

“No - at least, I don’t think so yet, but he will in time,” he says with not a shade of doubt, “He will. He has faith.”

“So do we,” she murmurs, reaching out to touch Cas. Dean continues to watch her like a hawk, but allows her to brush the top of Cas’ head. She smiles so brightly - a smile that transforms her into something truly  _exquisite_ \- and then she ruins it by running a hand through Dean’s hair too. He makes a noise of protest, but her hands are nice and warm. Surprisingly tender.

He watches as she tilts her head back and frowns at the sky - at Cas and then at her own hand, “I don’t understand… shouldn’t this-”

Ramiel smiles sadly, “It isn’t the kind he needs. You know that. This isn’t the right place or the right time.”

She nods reluctantly and then returns to Ramiel’s side and holds out her hand for her brother.

“I believe it is time for us to leave,” she announces, glancing over her shoulder at Dean, “It was an honour to meet you, Dean Winchester. I hope your walk back won’t be too troublesome,” she looks up at the sky, smiling, “At least the night will be calm-”

“And quiet,” Ramiel finishes. They share some sort of… sad private joke, and then he holds up a hand to Dean in a mock-salute, “But unfortunately wet too…  there’s nothing we can do about that. Anyhow, farewell Dean Winchester. I wish you luck with what you must do, and I hope you paid attention-”

His sister cuts him off by grabbing his hand, and then they erupt into  _light_.

There is a rush of wind so powerful it throws Dean back, pressing him against stones that cut into his hands and scrape his face. Cas wakes with a start - he scrabbles at Dean like a startled cat, completely at odds with his surroundings, and then his eyes are drawn to his siblings. It’s like Grace, but a crack of lightning spears into the earth where the two stood, and then they are gone.

Dean looks between the vanishing light and the reflection of it in Cas’ widened eyes. He is cold and wet and dog tired, but also incredibly awake and struck by sudden  _understanding_.

There is  _something_ of this he understands. He can’t quite grasp it, but he knows that it is there. Another piece of the puzzle has clicked into place. Maybe it’s a border piece, nothing major in the bigger picture, but it frames things a bit better- starts bringing things together. He sees it, but for now he cannot identify it against the many more things he doesn’t.

“What the fuck,” he breathes. Cas’ head bobs, knocking into his chin. He scoffs, “What a bunch of show-offs.”

“That was Barachiel,” Cas mutters, frowning, “ _He_  is not usually a woman.”

Dean snorts again, which turns into a full-out laugh. The whole thing more than a little overwhelming. He checks Cas over and counts one of the few good things about the night - Cas wasn’t hurt. He’s cold and muddy but unscathed. That’s good.

… he can’t help but go back to his thoughts, scouring his brain for what he understood. Doesn’t thunder usually follow lightning? Funny that this time it didn’t - he knows from all the crappy documentaries he’s had to suffer (for Sam) over the years that lightning definitely comes first.

“They have both Risen,” Cas observes, his voice dull and resentful.

“Yup, that's a good thing, right?”

“Perhaps not,” Cas answers, his frown becoming a full-on pout, “Ramiel has told me about the souls.”

Ah yes, the souls. Dean groans and stretches out his arms dramatically, cracking his leg joints. The walk back is gonna be long. Fuck knows where the car is, but they'd better get a move on. Cas is ridiculously wobbly on his feet, but they sort of… anchor each other with their arms linked, leaning against each other and steadying each other when they trip. Dean doesn’t give a rat’s ass what they might look like. There’s no one there to judge anyway.

“Save it for when we’re dry and warm. I can’t concentrate when I can’t even tell if I’ve peed myself. Jesus, I'm friggin’ half- _fish._ ”

Cas opens his mouth, but then he shuts it. He shoots Dean a disturbed look which is promptly ignored, and then sighs.

“There is nothing that complex for you to wrap your head around this time. He simply said that they are gone - vanished into the unknown. They can’t have disappeared, that isn’t possible. But the souls are no longer in Heaven, because Heaven doesn’t exist,” even though what he says is rather a big deal, Cas didn’t sound too shocked by it, and even Dean finds that he couldn’t be too surprised by anything anymore. Their usual quota tends to be cataclysmically awful, so technically this is just business as usual.

Even something as terrible as this - nothing new.

He tries to blot the thoughts from his mind before they can fully form, but they escape and band together with his conscience to torment him -  _Where is your mom and dad then? Where is Bobby? Ellen and Jo? Ash and all the others, the friends who all died for **you**?_

_Where are their souls? Are they gone forever?_

Dean.

_Dean - after all those people died for you, after all the times you should have joined them in death but didn’t, they are gone forever and you're still here -_

“ _Dean_.”

The plaintive note in Cas’ voice saves Dean from his thoughts, and - whoa, they’ve reached the car already. How is that even possible? Cas is already in the passenger seat, shivering violently and glaring at Dean through the streaked window to  _move his ass, before they both turn into fish._ Dean cringes when he slides his soaking butt onto his beloved leather seats. It squeaks obnoxiously. He’s crying inside.

“So,” he says as they start to head back home. Cas turns up his collar and huddles into the soaked fabric. “Ramiel told me to watch them… said it would help us figure out what we have to do.”

“I thought you said you'd prefer to talk when we’re dry,” Cas points out. Dean rolls his shoulders in an effort to loosen them, mentally noting: a  _wet, tired Cas is a snarky Cas._

“I’m just thinking out loud, man,” he mutters, “Those Angels… they disappeared  _in thunder and lightning.”_

And then something in Dean shrieks  _Eureka!_  as he suddenly remembers Ramiel saying: ‘ _I have no idea why they are so uncharacteristically late. They usually arrive before me… It’s unlike them,’_ \- which, added to the fact that for some strange reason, thunder arrived  _before_ lightning tonight means...

He  _thinks_ he gets it.

“Does Ramiel make… thunder?” he asks. Quickly he rethinks his wording, “…like  _real_ thunder, not farting. I mean.”

Cas nods _,_ “My brother Ramiel, ‘ _thunder of God’_ is his name, as he was born immediately after Barachiel, the clamorous applause to his lightning,” his mouth twitches, “The two have always enjoyed making grand performances wherever they can.”

“Okay, so Ramiel  _has_ thunder and Bara… Bariki-”

“Barachiel.”

“Yeah okay, that guy has lightning, and when they Rose…” Dean pauses, trying to put what he thinks he understands into words, “…they got zapped with their own thing. So do you think…?”

Cas rolls his eyes and sighs dramatically, “It’s fairly obvious, yes - the way Angels can be restored must be linked to their…  _affinities_. What I can’t understand is  _why_ that is - and even if it solves the problem of  _how_ to get them back to themselves, it doesn’t fix things at large. They're still stuck on Earth, only with their Grace restored they're more dangerous to everyone around them.”

“What’s  _your_ ‘affinity’?”

It’s the next question on the list, Dean thinks, but clearly Cas didn’t expect it. His lips tighten and his cheeks puff out, like he’s trying to speak with his mouth glued shut - oh _. Oh_. Dean could’ve slapped himself.

“ _That's_ what the secrets are about,” he realises, “The thing you guys can’t tell us - it’s your affinities, isn’t it?”

“I’ve already said too much. Confirming this will be condemnable,” Cas looks pained by his admission which worries Dean, because if revealing this little information is where Cas draws the line, he’s not gonna push any further. If Cas says he's in pain, he’s really hurting - and he's not even properly admitting to it here, just warning him.

“Okay. You don’t have to say anything,” he blurts out quickly, wincing as Cas gasps for air, “No seriously, dude. Shut up. You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

“-m’f-fine-”

“Sure you are. Look - I don’t need to know any more about it. Just… if you can’t tell me what yours is, maybe you can lead me to it instead…? You know - you don’t have to say a word, you can just lead the way. I’ll be your uh… taxi driver slash back-up, I s’pose.”  _Lady-in-waiting_ , he hears Charlie’s chime from wherever in his head she managed to hack her way in.

“That might be doable, but I don’t think… I'm not our greatest priority right now. We should regroup with the others at the Bunker and plan our next course of action. Once Heaven is restored… then we can start thinking about me.”

“Don’t put yourself last, Cas - you are a priority. Honestly - you're one of the gang, and we need you at your best and stuff-” as soon as the words leave his mouth, he knows they should’ve stayed there, or fucked off to the same other dimension his tact went decades ago.

Cas’ brow wrinkles - it’s not much, but Dean can tell he’s pissed. That’s how well he can read Cas, made even easier now with his more expressive face. Before the Fall, he’s not even sure Cas would’ve done that eyebrow twitch, so basically this is some massive hole he's dug himself.

“Oh, I see now - I'm of no use to you like this. I'm just a bag of bones. A…  a  _hindrance,_ ” he stumbles over the last word.  Dean can’t defend him from his own accusations without sounding patronising, and as Cas waits on him to say  _something_ , the awkward silence stretches out for miles and miles. Cas draws in a shuddering breath, resigned, “I  _am_ useless.”

“Cas,” he doesn’t know what to say beyond that, but sometimes just hearing your name is a comfort. He hopes he doesn’t sound pitying. “You aren’t. I didn’t mean it that way - you know me. You know what I'm like. I have chronic foot-in-mouth disease. It’s a pain in the ass too-” Cas snorts at this, “-but  _you -_ you are  _not_  useless. I promise. Cas, look at me.” He does, and Dean turns to him, disregarding the road completely to meet Cas’ eyes, which are wide and earnest in the dark. “I promise I’ll never lie to you, I’ll tell you straight out when you're useless, and you'll know it’s the God-honest-truth when I say so. I might not even have to say it, I’ll just kick you're useless ass into gear, got it?”

He nods grimly, and then pointedly jerks his head toward the forgotten road. Dean rolls his eyes, and just to mess with him a little, swerves the car a little side to side. The white hand clenching his knee forces him to calm things down before he loses the feeling in his leg.

As the conversation lags, Dean finds he can’t stop thinking about the Angels Rising, and  _Cas_ \- what about him? What could his  _affinity_ be?

“Cas… don’t you - wouldn’t you like to go back to your  _normal self_  though? It must suck, being human, right? No instant Angel mojo-ing to places in a split second. I mean, you hate travelling this way, don’t you? And having to eat and drink and shit and sleep all the time… I would’ve thought you’d be dying to be an Angel again.”

Cas’ cheek squeaks against the window glass, and he actually  _smiles_  when he reminds Dean, “I  _have_  been human before, you know… it’s not as awful as you make it out to be.”

Dean can’t help but smile, “Oh yeah? Kev told me about you hating having to deal with the  _‘maintenance’_ of the human body.”

Cas wrinkles his nose, “I don’t. But what I'm saying is there  _are_ benefits to counter the _…less pleasant_ side of things.” Dean motions  _such as…?_ “You see the world through a child’s eyes, all the time - there is wonder in everything. There are things I've seen thousands of times as an Angel that I never appreciated enough - every experience is fresh and new. Time is so  _precious_ , yet at the same time, human life slows it down to minutes and  _seconds._ I can take the time to… to enjoy things, I guess,” he shrugs, “And that’s special. That’s how I see it.”

“… well,” Everything Cas just said was a compliment to Dean’s  _species,_ how can he not be proud? How can he not admire the way Cas sees the world and the pleasure he has gained from it? It’s not thanks to him - he didn’t slow time down for Cas, or open his eyes to the  _wonder_ of things, but the way Cas said all those things to  _him_ makes him feel somehow important.

“There's no reason to feel less capable as a human. You are not an inferior species. You are just  _young_.”

And this that he says after  _humbles_ Dean, speaking more to him - cutting straight through all his usual laid-back bullshit to the root of how helpless he feels. They are still facing an inconceivable problem, and facing it with nothing - no  _real_ plan at. And yet - Cas, who’s not only burdened with this, but being suddenly demoted to a - maybe not  _lesser_ , but  _weaker_ species - has never looked _stronger._

Dean was so wrong before to think that Cas was dependable and weak. Someone like him could never be called by such a term. Through all the trials and tribulations, Cas has never lost hope, and while some might call that foolishness, Dean can’t see it as anything but strength.

“If you say so, Cas,” he mutters, and with nothing else to say, they drive on.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Upon entering their less-than-humble abode, Sam finds himself tackled by the Red Queen and bombarded with questions, including gratuitous slaps and being shoved toward the library. To his absolute delight, Gabriel went completely ignored by Charlie for the first fifteen minutes or so of the greeting (read: interrogation), which pissed him off more and more till he  _had_  to get a word in… but wasn’t give him an opportunity to anywhere. Charlie’s unintentionally passive deflection method (i.e. her loud voice) meant he had no chance, and so he skulked off, sulking and stomping his feet.

“You're amazing,” Sam grins down at his chatterbox friend, whose power of nonstop talking has managed to repel the current bane of his life.

“-swear you're drinking Ent water or something - have you grown? I'm pretty sure you’ve grown. I can’t be shrinking, unless _-_ ”

“Charlie?” Kevin appears from around the corner, “Oh. Hi Sam,” he says, hardly a welcome compared to Charlie’s - then again, he looks like he’s got something else on his mind -“Charlie,” he repeats more sternly, “You're procrastinating.”

She points at him, “ _You're_ procrastinating,” but at his unimpressed raised brow she pouts, “You're no fun,” she sighs loudly, “Alas, dear Samsquatch, I have much work to do, and no motivation to do it - oh, by the way the wifi in here is  _amazing._ Tell me how.”

He shrugs, “Dunno. It was built a long time ago too. Maybe it’s to do with… uh…”

She grimaces and pats his head, “Sometimes I forget how un-techno your little brain works. Never mind. By the way, who was that guy you came in with?”

He flinches, but then she slaps a hand over his mouth and shakes her head, “No, wait, I got this… sunlight through a shot of whiskey eyes, dying for attention, kinda impatient and  _short_ ,” she gasps, “That was Gabriel?!”

Sam nods, “Mrrfh fuhh Grrrrhfh,” he nods.

“Awesome!”

“ _Not_  awesome,” Sam insists, “Trust me,  _so_ not awesome.”

“You lot still speak like college kids,” Crowley interjects, sauntering into the room wearing an a-

“Is that  _Dean’s_  apron?” Charlie grins, eyeing the fairly plain and functional navy blue apron with a disproportionate and inappropriate amount of glee. There’s nothing overly embarrassing about it… other than the thought of  _Dean_ and  _apron_ existing together, of  _Dean wearing apron_ being something Sam doesn’t want to imagine (but damn Charlie, he can’t  _un-_ imagine it now).

Crowley plucks at the apron and grunts in answer, “How the hell should I know? I’m just making dinner,” he squints up at Sam, “…I suppose I can make  _more.”_

Sam blinks, “It’s three in the morning.”

Crowley shrugs.

“What’re we having?”

“Pasta,” he calls over his shoulder as he leaves the room. Kevin groans, but Sam’s stomach rumbles with interest when he realises he hasn’t eaten for the whole day. He follows Crowley back to the kitchen, the other two tagging along ( _procrastinating,_ he bets).

And then the kitchen scene he walks into is so utterly bizarre that he has to stop in his tracks just to take it all in.

Gabriel has somehow wandered into the kitchen - probably the smell of fragrant garlic and tomato sauce drawing him there - and now he’s chopping away at some vegetables in a matching apron to Crowley’s, Crowley is stirring the sauce and plopping meatballs in the pot. And just to add to Sam’s reality/alternate-universe crisis, Charlie and Kevin stride past him without hesitation and join the factory line in perfect synchrony, pulling out bowls and cutlery and pouring water in glasses.

He feels both completely out of place and inexplicably  _at home,_ and as Charlie swats him to his seat and Crowley scoops some pasta into his bowl, his internal dilemma disappears, and he just  _accepts_ it. He joins in with the distributing of various utensils around the table (and then the consequent battle with Gabriel for either the last fork or the last spoon when they realise there aren’t actually enough for them to have both) _._

And then Sam gets the feeling that he’s forgetting something -

Oh.

Some _one_ standing in the doorway, arms crossed and hip cocked - Sheriff Mills clears her throat, and all their faces turn to her, some with pasta hanging from their gaping mouths. So very attractive, they are. She slaps on a polite smile, which changes into something  _motherly_ when she looks over to Sam - but before she can start on him for leaving her in the car, Crowley gasps and his fork clatters to the table, spattering sauce everywhere.

What a big mistake - the instant he does it, he draws everyone’s attention. Including Mills.

When Mills sees him she sucks in her breath, “ _You_ ,” she hisses.

He gulps down his mouthful and tentatively scoots back in his seat, “Ah, yes. How nice to see you again-”

Mills pulls a terrifying face, “What are  _you_ doing here?” she turns on Sam, “Do you know him?  _How_ do you know him? Is he one of your friends, or one of the things you hunt?"

Sam is beyond confused, "How do  _you_ know  _him?"_

"I went on a date with him and - and-” her head goes back and forth between the two, as though she cannot decide who to target. She picks on Crowley - “You ditched me! I had blood all over me - I almost bled to death in the bathroom, and when I came out you were gone, and I made one of the waiters faint and a baby  _cry_ at the sight of me!” she’s near shrieking at this point, “ _By the way, Sam_ ,” - by her tone, Sam knows he’s in for it now, “Do  _you_ have any idea why I almost bled out that day? Cos that sort of thing is your speciality, isn't it? Fucking Winchesters - you were the first people that came to mind when I started spewing blood, holy crap...”

“Uh…”

“Yeah, thought so,” she snaps, pulling out a chair slap-bang in between the two of them _,_ “Is there enough for me? I'm starved.”

“Yeah,” Kevin quickly lunges towards the cupboard to reach the cupboard, grabs her a bowl and a… chopstick - rummages for another chopstick and offers her an apologetic smile with it, to which she pinches his cheek and starts serving herself.

Everyone apart from Sam and Crowley goes back to eating, safe in the knowledge that Mills acted perfectly kindly towards Kevin, meaning only Crowley and Sam would be her victims. Sam has completely lost his appetite, along with the desire to make any sudden movements with Mills right there next to him. Right there. Next to him.

“Well, this would have been awkward if it was him just ditching you on your date _… but,_ I guess it could be worse. I don’t know, why don’t you tell me who you think this guy really is? Let me tell you if you're right, or if his Match-dot-com profile is  _embellishing_ things a little.”

Fucking Gabriel - Sam makes with both hands to throttle him before he can continue, but Mills’ vice grip on his leg stops him, and Gabriel  _smirks._ Mills blushes deeply as her grip tightens. Sam thinks he can feel tendons snapping, but he's willing to trade his leg for his life. “His… profile said he’s an investment banker from the UK -” Gabriel muffles a snort, “- he loves big dogs and fine wine, and he enjoys travelling a lot - am I missing something here?” Gabriel is full-on giggling now. Sam is burning a hole through his head. “I suppose his name isn’t Fergus MacLeod then either.”

“Go on,” he graciously holds out the baton to Sam, “I’ve done the hard part of restarting this conversation. Your turn to keep the ball rolling. Why don’t you enlighten the lovely lady? Go on.”

Mills’ hand tightens, her smile borders on saccharine. “Yes,  _go on.”_

Sam gulps, “Well… I guess you could say his first name  _was_ Fergus. Once. A long time ago. But around here he goes by Crowley.”

“Crowley,” Mills repeats, rolling the name around her mouth. She sees him flinch out of the corner of her eye. “Crowley suits you better.”

He clears his throat, “Does it? Thanks.”

Her eyes narrow, “So, do you mind telling me,  _Crowley,_ what cut our date short?”

Crowley flies out of his chair and across the room, throwing over his shoulder a hasty, “Excuse me,” and then he is gone.

Mills blinks slowly but recovers extraordinarily fast, rolling spaghetti around her chopsticks rather deftly, “Heh,” she sighs, “I sense this is gonna become a regular thing, but gotta say - déjà vu. Is he always so flighty, or does he have a 'condition'?”

Charlie chokes on her water - Sam tentatively waits for the inevitable anger he expects from her, but she remains calm and focused on her pasta. Apparently the situation has been resolved just like that. Part of him is relieved and glad it’s over, but the  _stupid_ voice in his head (that sounds suspiciously like Dean) doesn’t believe it and has to ask, “Aren’t you-”

“No,” she snarls, snatching Crowley’s bowl and digging into it too, “You know what? That’s the end of it. I actually don’t want to hear any more about him. Now, where are my manners? I'm sorry that you two had to see that,” she says to Charlie and Kevin, who both jerk to attention immediately, “Jody Mills, pleasure.”

They both introduce themselves and swiftly finish their food - apparently procrastination time is over with - and with that they both announce they have ‘ _stuff to do’_ and dash off. Mills - or  _Jody_  - giggles, muttering, “Kids these days.”

In all of this, he realises Gabriel has been unnaturally absent from the conversation.

In fact, apart from starting the ball rolling, he got out of it pretty fast and let them all fluster and squirm under Jody’s scrutiny. He’s even finished his pasta and is waiting for them to finish theirs, hands folded, looking around the room boredly.

“I thought you said el Deano would be here,” he says, cutting through the awkward silence.

“Well, I thought he’d be here. Dunno where he is.”

“He’s gone out with Cas,” Kevin reappears, “Actually, they headed out to find  _you_. I’ve texted them to let them know you're here now. They're already heading back.”

Sam shakes his head, “Still can’t believe you guys let Cas run away.”

“He’s sneakier than you think!” Kevin protests, and Gabriel  _beams_ proudly.

“You should never underestimate Cassie - then again, I bet you fall for his big ol’ blue peepers every time. That used to get me too, but after a couple millennia you get used to it.”

“I heard he was looking for God again?” Sam hates to ask - like a whip, Gabriel’s attention hits the change of topic and latches around it.

Kevin sighs. “He found the amulet in your old hoodie, and then he just went off to  _God knows where,_ looking for him.”

“Appropriate use of irony, bro,” Gabriel holds out his fist. Kevin cautiously bumps it.

Sam lets a breath hiss between his teeth, “Should’ve hidden it better.”

Gabriel nudges Kevin, “How long till they get here? I wanna see him. Bet he’s adjusting well to being a human,” there's an odd thing in his tone.

“An hour maybe? Fuck. I gotta get  _something_ out of this Tablet before Dean arrives,” Kevin hurries out of the room, muttering, “Or he’ll go apeshit again, craaap…”

Gabriel whistles, “That kid’s got issues.”

Mills tuts, “He looks like he’s got a lot on his plate, poor kid.”

Sam agrees, “He has. But unfortunately he's the only one who can do what he has to do.”

“And what is that?”

“He’s a prophet,” Gabriel answers for him, “He’s the only person in the world who can Read the Word of God. This one doesn’t get visions like the last. He’s lucky in that respect - visions really mess with your mind. Then again, Reading tends to fuck with your eyes, so the job screws with you any which way.”

“Damn, what’d he do to get landed with that job?” she asks. Gabriel shrugs.

“Beats me.”

“Well then, what’re we gonna do while we wait for them?”

“I already told Sam that when Dean gets here we need to take him to Missouri, so I suggest we find out where she is at.”

“She’ll be in Kansas,” Sam points out.

“That's where she was last time you saw her, but more often than not, the people you Winchesters pick up on your travels and whatnot have to move home soon after. Didn’t you know that?” Gabriel looks over Sam’s grimace and shakes his head, “I thought you'd know that, given how fatal your sex life has become.  _Meet the great Sam Winchester - muscly and tall, with fabulous hair - he’ll_ literally _fuck you to death-”_

“We’re dangerous by association,” Sam explains to Jody, his face drained of colour. He can’t bring himself to look at her. “I should’ve expected she’d move.”

“Let’s get your techie to run a search for Missouri,” Gabriel suggests.

Jody holds up a hand, “Wait, I'm really confused. Missouri is a  _person_ , right?”

It turns out that Charlie is quite relieved to have another job to do, even something as simple as a people search - keeping their ‘ _situation’_ under the radar is a really dull job, and she spins on her chair in delight, typing sporadically into three different search engines.

“Missouri, Missouri, Missouri… ah - here she is,” she points at… Kansas. “Miss Moseley is exactly where she’s been living for the past thirty odd years.”

“Looks like you were wrong,” Jody points out at Gabriel, gently nudging against Sam in support. “There are some of us who weren't so easily scared off by these boys - those of us who want them to know exactly where they can find us.”

Gabriel shrugs, “The woman’s a psychic. Maybe she can foresee bad things coming and I ‘unno, dodge ‘em.”

“She’ll know we’re coming then.”

“ _Obviously,”_  Gabriel rolls his eyes, “Since she told me to bring you to her.”

Sam stares, “You failed to mention that.”

He shrugs, “Bumped into each other on the road. She’s a awesome at getting bus drivers to get their shit together, lemme tell you. Not seen a woman talk a man down to tears like that for a long time,” he glances at Jody, “Until now.”

Kevin pokes his head into the room, “They're arriving in ten, apparently.”

In those ten minutes (which were actually seventeen minutes, Sam gripes), surprisingly enough Gabriel starts  _pacing_. He might be nervous, but Sam thinks  _no, he’s just hyper, unable to sit still for a minute_ , because him being nervous is unheard of. A little voice in Sam’s head pipes up that hyper children don’t pace in a precise three metre line, back and forth with their eyes unfocused. Gabriel is thinking. He’s freaking out over something, and that naturally freaks all of them out.

The tension oozes out, spreading into every person… it’s like ants have crawled everywhere. They can’t stop twitching. Gabriel remains silent in thought. Sam can’t take his eyes off him - there must be something really wrong. But it’s only Dean and…  _Cas._ Right, there’s Cas coming too - maybe that’s why he’s getting so worked up. Sam wouldn’t expect someone like Gabriel to be losing his cool over his baby brother - that really wasn’t his style.

Something is up.

The seventeen minutes pass, and then Dean and Cas enter the Bunker looking like they fell into a sewer.

There are no greetings - they rush pass them, intent on getting to their rooms, and after ten minutes Dean emerges with pink, steaming skin and spiky wet hair. He looks pleasantly surprised at the sight of Jody, and much less pleased seeing Gabriel peeking behind her.

…maybe it was  _Dean_  Gabriel was freaking out over. Now Sam realises that it was maybe not such a good idea to not tell Dean about Gabriel beforehand, seeing the deadly glint in his brother’s eye and his fingers curling into fists. It’s only  _now_  that Sam realises that Gabriel is really kinda  _small_  compared to Dean and himself, and without his Grace he’s got nothing on Dean.

He leaps into action, literally - jumping between the two and using his massive body as a makeshift barrier.

“Now Dean,” he directs at his brother, intending to shift his focus to him, not the dick behind him; to Gabriel, he motions at him to back off, which he thankfully does. “Dean,” he repeats, “Don’t do anything stupid, okay? Gabriel’s here to help-”

“Oh, will you  _relax?_  I’m not gonna punch him!” Dean  _says that_ , but his fists are still fists, “I  _want_ to, but I’ll be nice and let you talk first. What’s he doing here?” he points at Jody, “And you. Nice to see you, but what are you doing here too?” he throws out his arms, “Who called a house party, and why wasn’t I invited?” his eyes finally land on Crowley, “Is that my apron?”

“ _Is_ it your apron?” Charlie giggles  _exactly_ the moment Cas walks in. She falls into more giggling when he gives her a  _look,_ and when his infamous big ol’ blues land on his brother, he tilts his head in curiosity.

“Gabriel… brother, why are you here?” he glides over to him, as though closer inspection is needed to recognise that smirking face.

“Yo Cassie, how are you bro?” Gabriel closes the last bit of space between them and yanks Cas down into a man-hug, which is made comical by the fact that Cas remains rigid as a statue throughout, and looks like Gabriel just pantsed him in front of the class. “You look good, kid. I guess you landed somewhere soft then?”

“I didn’t Fall,” he appears uncomfortable saying so, “I was… thrown out.”

Gabriel’s smile drops instantly, “Thrown? From heaven?” Cas nods. Gabriel's voice goes icy cold, “Who?”

“Metatron,” Cas bristles at the name, “He tricked me. I thought I was doing the right thing-”

“And what exactly were you  _thinking_ when you went along with his little plan? No, you know what? You  _weren't_ thinking. I can guess exactly how this went - you were trying to fix something… Sammy told me they’ve spent the last year trying to lock up Hell, so I can only assume you were doing the same thing the other way - trying to shut Heaven?”

Cas nods miserably.

Gabriel slaps his forehead.

“And what kind of people were you talking to, to end up with Metatron’s help - fuck, what a dick. I thought he was good, you know? He was always so  _reliable_ and chipper. Maybe a little  _too_ nice. Fuck…” Gabriel is staring off into space, not in a trance, but lost in himself. It’s impossible to imagine what he’s going through. He must have known Metatron quite well, and he was  _family,_  so this betrayal was even worse. “…are  _you_  okay?”

“He took my Grace,” Cas chokes out, head bowed. “It was the final part of the spell. With it he cast out all the Angels from Heaven.”

“Ouch,” Gabriel breathes, patting Cas' shoulder, “That’s cold. Really cold.”

“Okay, yeah it is and I'm really sorry for you guys, but we really need to be moving onto  ‘ _figuring out how to fix this gigantic mess’_ ASAP. So Sammy,” Dean turns to his brother, “Where the fuck did you find this guy, and why isn’t he dead?”

“He’s supposed to be dead?” Jody can’t help asking, casually intrigued, “Is he something you hunt? Oh God-”

“He’s just an ex-Angel, relax,” Dean explains, “He was a real bastard with wings. Pretended he was a Pagan God for a long time and… it’s kind of a long story, but he was killed by Lucifer.”

Her eyes bug out, “L-Lucifer?  _Satan?”_   she whips around to Gabriel, “Wait, you're  _the Archangel Gabriel?_ ”

Charlie takes her arm and gently leads her away. They hear her saying, “Kinda hard to believe, ain’t it? He’s taller than I’d expected though. I mean, in the _books…”_

Sam steps in front of Dean again, blocking Gabriel from view. The space between them is abundant with mutual  _I feel like rearranging your face into a Picasso_ vibes, and he doesn’t want to have to break them up and clean up the mess. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter where I found him. He’s here, and he’s here to help. He  _knows things_ , Dean.”

“Yeah, well we know things too,” Dean snipes, and then proceeds to fill them in all about Ramiel and Barachiel and the crazy night they went through.

“I'm impressed, Dean-o,” Gabriel admits, his smile a little tight, “You figured it out…sorta. Ish. You got the gist, at least,” he glances at Cas, “But we can’t tell you any more about this, right?”

Cas shifts uneasily on his feet.

Dean nods, “Yup. Got it. No problem,” he pokes Cas, “What’s up, man? Ants in your pants? It had to be done - you didn’t say anything you shouldn’t have.”

“Good for him. So, let’s see then - what’s next?”

Dean opens his mouth. And then he shuts it.

“Ah-ha, you see the problem now, don’t you? Why don’t you point out the obvious biggest problem with what we’ve figured out, Sam?”

“If the Angels each have their own affinities… and each of them is different…” Sam purses his lips.

“ _Exactement_  - we can’t afford to spend our time hunting down every single Angel on the planet and finding their affinity and helping them find their way back - there are literally  _thousands_ of us.”

“And you guys can’t tell us what those affinities are anyway, which makes things a heckuvalot harder.”

“Heaven is the biggest problem,” Cas insists, his expression bleak and wary, “Without Heaven, it doesn’t matter if the Angels Rise or not - there's nowhere for us to go. We will raze this planet to the ground. It will collapse under the weight of all of us.”

Dean squints, “Dude, you're not  _that_ heavy. Priority number one is getting Heaven fixed… how do we do that?”

Gabriel mimes zipping his lips and chucking the key, but Cas automatically glances towards Kevin before looking away. Gabriel groans. Thank fuck for Cas’ lack of subtlety, Dean can’t help but think. “ _Kevin_ , how goes the translating, m’boy?”

The look he receives is so toxic Dean fears it might be actually giving him cancer or something, and Kevin breathes very loudly before massaging his temples in that way that implies an impending breakdown.

“I've got  _nothing_.”

They all stare. Dean bites the bullet.

“Nothing? Not anything? Not even one teensy little word?” Why Dean thinks it’s appropriate to do so, even he can’t understand, and yet he does it and Kevin squeezes his eyes shut and furrows his brow. He looks like he’s either concentrating super hard or constipated. It’s another warning sign Dean sees and blatantly ignores - “Is there anything we can help you with?”

“Tea?” Crowley pipes up.

Kevin shakes his head, “No. I’m sorry, but I don’t get it - there’s something stopping me. I can see things, but they're just out of reach… blurry, I guess you'd say,” he shakes his head again, mumbles something and slinks off to the corner. They decide to leave him.  _Poor kid,_ they all think. 

But they must carry on - and so Sam snags one of Charlie’s laptops and types into Google:  _Gabriel._

Said Angel’s eyebrow jumps up, amused, “What are you doing?”

“Research - I’m gonna look up your ‘ _affinity’_. We need all the help we can get, and restoring your Grace could be useful to us. Or at least it will sort of give us  _something_  we can use.”

“Sure,” Gabriel drops into an armchair and folds his hands behind his head, “Go ahead.”

The way he says that instantly halts Sam in his tracks. It’s almost challenging, but he doesn’t look like he’s taunting Sam, more like he's resigned than anything. Dean motions to him to continue web-searching, so he runs through the hyperlinks and eventually (inevitably) goes back to the top of the page and clicks on  _Wikipedia._ He skims the article at a speed Dean despises (and envies), since he’s way back at the second paragraph while Sam is scrolling further down.  _College boy_. Sam finishes reading and then leans back in his chair, meeting Gabriel expectant face with his own calculated squint. “You're a messenger.  _The_ Messenger of Heaven.”

Gabriel grins, “Ooh, this is like reading horoscopes. Keep going. Where's my love life headed?”

“You're a Messenger typically to prophets,” Sam jerks his thumb at Kevin, “Go on then. Help him.”

Gabriel holds out his hands, “No mojo, no can do. Sorry kid,” he adds, to which Kevin sighs like a punctured tyre.

“You appeared…  _unto_  the Virgin Mary, and John the Baptist, and Jesus - etcetera, etcetera, etcetera-”

“Hey!” Gabriel sits up, “Those are my  _legacies_ , don’t play ‘em off like that!”

“- and you did some stuff in the Garden of Eden - blah, blah-”

“That one’s  _important!_ ”

Sam slows down. And smirks. “Hey, according to the Bible, you aren’t really an Archangel.”

Gabriel scoffs, “Screw the Bible. They only get it right half the freaking time anyway. You really believe that? After you’ve seen what I can do?”

“Alright, I’ll give you that. You… foretold the destruction of Jerusalem?”

“Eh? Where does it say that?” he scrambles over and reads the passage, “…oh yeah. That wasn't fun.”

“What else?” Dean whines, already completely bored of hearing about Gabriel’s life.

Sam runs through the article again, “…there’s not much else. It just says about the Horn - we know about the Horn; Muslims seem to think he’s quite important; the Mormons thought he was Noah-”

“Really?” Gabriel gasps theatrically, “Those  _bastards_.”

Cas frowns, “Noah wasn’t that bad.”

“He was  _boring_. All work, no play.”

“He was quite dull,” Crowley agrees, “Though you have to commend him for his work ethic.”

“Wait a sec,” Dean snags the laptop and types into Wiki:  _Se-_ and then he pauses. “Cas, what was that Sefer thingy?”

“Sefer Raziel HaMalach?”

“That’s the one.”

The search doesn’t come up with the thing Dean wants, “No, there was something about Noah there. I remember reading it.”

“That isn’t the right one, that’s the Sefer  _Ha-Razim_  you want,” Gabriel pipes up. “Whaddya want with those old books?”

“It’s a book with all the angel rituals and summoning, isn’t it?”

“Not quite, but  _kinda_ -”

“I'm sorry, I have to go,” Crowley is already at the door, clutching his head - “I can’t - there's something -” he doesn’t even finish his sentence and bumps into Jody and Charlie on his way out. The Sheriff recoils, her expression showing that now she knows  _exactly_ who and what Crowley used to be.

“Geez, what’s his problem?” she collapses on the couch next to Gabriel, “Should someone go after him?"

No one moves.

"Alrighty then, well - guess what I've just learnt? I almost dated the King of Hell, Angels and Demons are living together... it’s like I stepped into one of those cosmic fantasy books where evil and good band together.”

Gabriel wrinkles his nose and Dean pins Charlie with a withering glare, “What did you tell her?”

She smirks, “We just talked. It’s alright. She digs fantasy novels.”

“Isn’t it hard for you though?” Jody asks Gabriel, “Getting along with an ex-Demon? I mean, he’s a real charmer. And  _hot_. But for you guys, you're immortal enemies aren’t you?”

He laughs, “Don’t give him that much credit. It’s definitely weird, but trust me, we’ve put up with worse situations in our time.”

Sam holds up his arm for attention, which - seeing how big and impossible to miss he is - is easy. “Okay, everyone shut up and focus - back to Gabriel,” he announces, pointing at his recovered internet tab, “You're the Angel of Joy and the… the Spirit of  _Truth?_ ”

Snort. “Those titles are so  _cheesy_ ,” is all he says.

“How are those your  _affinities_  though? How are we meant to restore your Grace with  _that?_ ” the resident giant starts pulling open more tabs frantically, “I mean,  _joy? Truth?_  What do we do - laugh at you? Spill our secrets to you, and then your wings and halo ping back on? That's just stupid.”

All the humour in Gabriel vanishes at that moment, ironically enough, and he mimes zipping his mouth again. “Nothing I can say, Sammo. I am who I am. You're wasting your time searching for my way out, anyway. Do Cas’.”

Sam frowns, but does as he says:  _Castiel_ , he types into Google, but it comes up with the thing saying - “Do I mean  _‘Cassiel’?_  What, you're not on Google?” Sam trawls through the links, but all he finds are Cassiel, Cassiel, Cassiel… “Dude, where are you?”

“That’s the right one, Sam,” Cas says, “My name is sometimes misspelt, as it often does with many things in holy scripts. Translations and adaptations - I am commonly written as Cassiel.”

“If you say so - okay, so Cassiel… the Angel of solitude and  _tears_.”

Dean has to read it for himself to believe it -“What the frig, Cas?” - Solitude?  _Tears?_

Cas may be solemn and sombre as a funeral march at times, but he’s no crybaby, nor does he expressly desire his own space - in fact, Dean can contest to the fact that he’s quite happy getting in other people’s space. It doesn’t make sense - it doesn’t fit with the Cas they know at all.

Sam continues: “…presides over the death of Kings - really, what the frig, Cas? This stuff says you can travel quickly through space - okay, that’s true. But I thought all Angels did that.”

“But he’s the fastest out of all of us,” Gabriel says, pinching his cheek, “Still got the advantage of youth on his side.”

Sam’s voice rises as he reads aloud: “ _’Magic spells using his name are cast to create destruction, to scatter crowds, to cause a person to wander aimlessly, or to fall from a position of power’ -_ wow. Is that true?”

The ex-Archangel splays himself over the entire sofa and closes his eyes, “Think about it. What did Metatron's spell do?”

… it  _destroyed_ Heaven,  _scattered_ the Angels all over Earth to  _wander aimlessly_. It goes without saying that they all  _fell from positions of power._ Cas’ grim silence speaks for itself. Dean can’t tell if he’s hearing what he’s hearing or if his ears are still full of water.

Sam cautiously backspaces to Google - Wiki ran out on Cassiel, so he goes back and searches again, and clicks on a site with a nauseatingly bright purple background* and teeny tiny text. He picks out the bits that seem relevant to  _their_ Cas, and reads aloud:

 _“’What is strange about Cassiel within scripture is that he is not affiliated with any particular duties or Angel like attributes…’,”_  he checks with Gabriel, who nods, “’ _Instead it is mentioned that he is simply a watcher, bearing witness to all of the events that unfold within our universe, or in God’s creation. It is said that Cassiel is forbidden to interfere with any of the events that he is witnessing unfold-’_ wait, that’s not true.”

“That’s definitely not what Cas does,” Dean protests, his chin practically stuck out, “He doesn’t sit back and  _watch_. He’s a go-getter.”

Sam smiles a bit as he reads out the next bit, “’ _Cassiel very much enjoys the company of us humans, almost preferring them over the company of his Angelic brothers and sisters’-”_

“Enough,” Cas finally interrupts, his face slightly flushed with colour. They all jump, almost completely having forgotten he was there. Reading these things about him is a bit like staring at his baby photos, he realises and apologises immediately, but Cas is deaf to it, “All that you have read merely shows that my affinity is, like Gabriel’s, unattainable, and we would do better to move onto other things.”

“Ramiel is the named the  _thunder of God_  - and you say he Rose with thunder?” Sam asks Dean.

“Yup - he and Bariki- the  _other guy_  got juiced up with thunder and lightning.”

“Then we will expect more of it to come,” Cas holds under Gabriel’s warning look, “Now they are Risen and bound to Earth, they enjoy performing. We will have much more frequent stormy nights on top of other things - flooding, firestorms, earthquakes..."

“Oh the bright side, we can play some of those things up as Global Warming Crisis things,” Charlie points out, having sneakily rescued two of her laptops from the boys, she’s typing away at a speed you can barely even see, eyes glued to the screen. “Everyone believes in all that Al Gore stuff anyway. People will eat that stuff up  _easy_.”

"What about the oarfish?" Gabriel grins, "Sabre-toothed whales in LA, things coming up from the ocean... sounds like something big is headed our way, doesn't it?"

Rahab - Dean remembers - along with Raziel, and the  _Sefer -_

“Hold on a sec,” Dean calls out, pinning Sam with one of his own  _get this_ looks, “You said that Raziel Rose too, didn’t you?”

“Uh-huh, she exploded a whole haystack,” Sam nods, “Raguel though… the,” he pulls open Wiki again, “ _Friend of God._ Well, he was pretty friendly, but he didn’t Rise… I don’t get it.”

“You won’t yet, Sammo.”

“Guys - Raziel is an Angel again, isn’t she?” Dean presses, pushing for something the others don’t get. “And we got nothing to go for right now - all this about the affinities etcetera ain’t any good to us without understanding what the heck we’re actually facing right now.”

“Yeah,  _and?_ ” Gabriel drawls.

“Well dude, what I'm saying is - the fact that we can practically read your whole life story through Wiki tells me that those things we just read might be your affinities, but they sure as hell ain’t your  _secrets_ ,” his eyes gleam victoriously as Gabriel tenses up a bit, “As Old World as you guys might be, you wouldn’t have allowed that sort of  _personal information_ to hit the Net, would’ya?”

“I don't understand smart phones, Dean. But yep, you're getting warmer,” is the only confirmation he gets, but it’s a crack into Gabriel's shell. He's giving hints now - it's enough.

Dean continues: “You were throwing a red herring there before, weren't you, Cas?” he says, referring to Cas’ pained expression when he’d admitted to him what Ramiel and Barachiel’s affinities were. From this - Dean appreciates that the two Angel brothers aren’t trying to be difficult - they're actually trying to nudge them in the right direction to the real prize. “So, what I think we should do is summon Raziel.”

“Summon Raz?” Gabriel echoes thoughtfully, “…ah, I think I see where you're going with this.”

“I don’t - why should we do that?” Sam asks warily. No doubt he’s not so eager to see her again after having mowed her down with an ugly ass car.

“She’s the Angel of Secrets, Sam - there might be something she can tell us-”

“Mmm,” Gabriel shakes his head, “I got it wrong - run through that scenario again and think about it carefully - if  _we_  can’t tell you our secrets, why the heck would you wanna ask the  _Angel of Secrets_  about it?”

“ _No_ , doofus, I'm not that stupid - we can ask her about the Sefer thing,” he asides to Sam, Charlie Jody and Kevin briefly, “It’s  _the_ Book of Secrets. We don’t have to ask you guys about it anymore if we can read it for ourselves.”

“And what makes you think that that isn’t  _the secret itself?”_

“Touché, but  _you wouldn't have said it was if it really was_.”

"Maybe that's my red herring."

"Maybe you're bluffing."

“Alright,  _enough_ ," Sam butts in, "After we summon her, Gabe says we have to go to Missouri's, Dean.”

“Missouri?” Dean winces, “Why are we going to see  _Missouri?_ ”

Gabriel scowls, “Don’t be like that. She’s a delightful woman." Dean gives him the stink eye. "She asked me to send you, so I'm doing my job as the  _Messenger._ Don’t shoot - I’d advise you to do as she asks.”

“Oh, we will,” Dean doesn’t even try to argue. There's no way he'd incur the wrath of that woman. He catches Cas giving him a questioning look and shrugs. He’s not gonna explain Missouri to him, he’ll meet her for himself. “First thing’s first - call up Raziel. Have a little chat. Then we’ll be off.”

“Righty-ho, who’s got the candles-”

Crowley bursts into the room, eyes wide and flickering with red light -

Immediately the two resident Hunters pull out their guns with rock salt - Jody gasps and Charlie ducks behind her laptop screens - the Fallen Angels tense, and Kevin observes.

“I heard her - she’s coming!” Crowley exclaims before anyone can move a millimetre anywhere. “The  _Red Queen_ ,” he hisses as his eyes flash red twice more, and then they roll back into his head and he crumples to the ground, unconscious. They all stare in horror, only half of them knowing what he means -

Charlie bites her lip, "Well that's defo not me he's talking about."

“The Queen of Hell - Abaddon,” Dean says. “She’s coming.”

“That’s not good. That’s very not good,” Gabriel babbles, “And you wanna summon an Angel here too. What excellent timing. Fucking  _hell.”_

“We should do it now,” Dean says, already heading to the door. He hop-scotches over Crowley’s body daintily,  _"C'mon,"_  and leaves at a brisk pace, Cas and Sam following closely behind.

Charlie and the other two remain frozen in shock, but Gabriel shrugs.

"Better make sure they get it right...” he mutters to himself, and follows behind.

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * I credit this site (which really exists) called “seraphim.com”, and have taken into account the possible inaccuracies of it, but glean from it only inspiration, with which I have combined creative licence. Guys, I'm doing research for this story. Shit’s getting serious…

**Author's Note:**

> "Men are not prisoners of fate, but only prisoners of their own minds." - Franklin D. Roosevelt
> 
> * S08 Episode 23 was located in Houston, Texas


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